Uncertainty
by PrettyPrettyPlease
Summary: One day Arthur wakes up to find he's been stuck in a dream for weeks. In reality, Cobb is still banned from the US, Inception never happened and the love of his life Ariadne? If she even exists, they're strangers. When Arthur gets it into his head that he needs to recreate the dream in reality, the repercussions could be fatal. A/A plus other faves. Probably a bit Arthur centric.
1. The End

Hello! New day, new story.  
On my most recently completed story I asked which of the upcoming ones would my readers like to see and it was sort of a tie between this one and Sweet Child. This was the one my brain decided to function for so…here we are:

p.s. I have no idea why the end of all my author notes has that stupid gibberish. But I've gone back and tried to fix it. What the heck fanfiction,

**Uncertainty**  
**Chapter 1: The End**

_The end is such a scary place to start.  
Everything is torn apart  
I don't where to go from here  
_—Jason Reeves

"It's not a big deal," Ariadne poured some freshly brewed tea into two bright blue mugs for them. Arthur just walked in the door but fifteen minutes prior, raving about his recent trip and how he procured an upcoming job for them. He breezed in, planted a big ole kiss on her cheek and went straight into detail about the location and paycheck prospects. The woman acted enthusiastic albeit a bit distracted. Normally, Ariadne would be glued to his information like a lifeline, asking a million questions, perhaps dancing around excitedly but she looked like she was only half paying attention. She nodded. She smiled. Arthur couldn't comprehend her rare disinterest until he saw the random present laying on the counter for him and Ariadne explained what it was for…

Arthur folded his jacket over the chair. Once he realized where he'd been over the weekend and what Ariadne celebrated alone he wanted to club himself. "It is a _huge_ deal," his hand rubbed over his face, "I missed our one-year _anniversary_ for some business meeting in Moscow. I didn't even think about the dates before I flew out there." His body leant against the island and his eyes guiltily bore into hers with more remorse than necessary, "I'm a _Point Man, _I should've—I'm so sorry, baby."

"Really, it's fine." The Architect handed him his cup with a sweet, forgiving smile and sauntered to the sofa where she had Downton Abbey paused on Netflix Instant. His repentant aura followed her from the kitchen to the living room. Knowing Arthur, he'd beat himself black and blue if he thought he'd offended her, so she assured him that her feelings were not hurt, "We've had a dry spell in dream work for a couple months and that meeting was crucial to get back in the game…you were just anxious to start work a job again. So am I. That can be my present."

Arthur's eyes fell down to his new laser-pointer and pen set, new bowtie and the empty blue envelope lying on the counter as several British accents came to life in the living room. The black and ivory striped card was carefully slipped out of its sleeve and held up to be read over again: _Nothing quite like us! Thank you for being my best friend, my roommate, my partner in crime, my dream mentor, my Point Man, my personal bug killer and back massager and of course the most wonderful boyfriend. I'm so happy you've been in my life this long, let's try for another year. I love you, Ari. _Sighing, he trudged his way over to her. "You must think I could care less."

The Architect paused the show again (more miffed that her viewing kept getting interrupted during the intense part than anything) and turned over her shoulder to find him leaning on the couch's armrest. "No," she shook her head and gave him a look that called him an idiot for thinking that, "I was sort of disappointed that we didn't get to spend Thursday together but I got over it. I'm not upset." When he narrowed his eyes and kept staring at her expecting another answer, she repeated, "_I'm not upset."_

"You look a little agitated," Arthur pointed out.

Her response was to point the remote to the tv, "Because I want to see what happens to Sybil and you keep bothering me." The tv sprouted back to life and Ariadne became immediately engrossed in the conversation between two doctors and Lord Grantham.

To her horror, the screen froze. Arthur reached over and halted the playback as he pulled the remote from her hand and guided her to her back on the couch, "I want to make it up to you," he laid over her, careful to hold himself up enough not to crush her. She grunted, eyes wide and hand reaching for the television dramatically, "Then press play!"

The Point couldn't help but laugh into her neck. He forced a nuzzle on her while she whined, "She has Eclampsia, Arthur, I _need _to know what happens!" His wet kisses and uncharacteristic stubble tickled her chin. Ariadne beat on his chest, chuckling against her will, "I'm serious, Point Man, let me watch my damn show."

"Hear what I have to say first. Then I'll resume it."

Her huff was too forced and theatrical to be real. Ariadne quit struggling against him, tore her eyes from the tv and rose her eyebrows. Full of boredom. He had to snort again before he made his case. "I'll go shave, make some reservations and run out to get flowers while you finish your show. Then we'll have a lovely dinner together," pausing, he flirtatiously nibbled on her bottom lip, "and an even lovelier night in bed to make up for my being such a Somnacin-addicted dumbass. Ok?"

Her eyes sparkled, saying she loved the idea. But her mouth insisted, "You don—"

"I know. I _want_ to. You know I would've planned the perfect evening for us had I been home. I'm angry at myself for missing the chance. Plus, I want somewhere to wear my new bowtie." Arthur winked.

Ariadne smirked, "It's mostly for the tie, isn't it?" Her thumb pressed on top of his and the images on the screen began to move and speak again.

The Point Man left (what he thought were) irresistible, searing kisses up the side of her neck, "Yes. Only for the tie. Not for the woman I'm in love with..." Self-satisfied with her gasp when he lightly sucked on the spot just under her jaw, he pulled back to see her face.

Ariadne was gaping at the tv with absolutely no regard for Arthur or his ministrations. "No…" He figured out what the gasp was _really_ for when she cried out, "She can't _die_! Lord Grantham, that son of a bitch should have allowed the freakin' cesarean. I can't believe they killed off Sybil!" Smiling anyway, Arthur pecked her forehead and left her with her beloved program while he mapped out a plan for their 'anniversary' date.  
xxxxxx

"Wow," Arthur breathed out upon her return, "I am a lucky man."

Ariadne had excused herself to the ladies' room while the salads were brought out and was strolling back through the restaurant to sit at their table. After a beat (and placing her napkin back on her lap), the girl started to drizzle the vinaigrette on top and mixing the greens with her fork. She coyly quipped, using her look through her lashes as a weapon against him, "Why? Because I can't hold very much champagne?"

"Yes," Arthur deadpanned. He waited for the Architect to look back up at him so he could pointedly glance at their fellow patrons (who, all shades of embarrassed, fascinated and intrigued, turned away as soon as she looked over) "And because people can't keep their eyes off you."

She rolled her eyes, "Or _you_. You're the hot one out of the two of us. Those men are obviously gay."

With a swig of champagne, "I caught a few men following you with their eyes all the way from the restrooms."

"Must've had toilet paper on my heels," wisecracked Ariadne with a click of the tongue before she began cutting her lettuce smaller.

"You don't give yourself enough credit," her hand was tugged to be bestowed with a quick kiss then put back, "but maybe that's a good thing. You won't realize you're too good for me and leave me for someone better."

The girl rewarded him with a grin and a teasing, "Has anyone ever told you how well you flatter? I may keep you another twelve months."

The Point Man nodded, "Please do."

Ariadne truly wasn't bothered in the least by Arthur missing their one year anniversary. Would it have been nice to spend it together? Yes. Was she one of those women that had a cow when he didn't remember their fifth week anniversary of saying 'I love you' and stuff like that? No. In all honesty, Arthur was the type of person that kept track of dates almost obsessively. For him to forget something he had to be under a lot of stress or a heavy workload and she wouldn't fault him for that. There were times she forgot things because she had a lot on her mind too. It didn't mean Arthur loved her any less. If there was one thing she knew for certain it was that Arthur loved her dearly and faithfully and continuously despite all her faults and bad hair days. She was all too knowledgeable about the type of man he was. Him accidentally being out of town longer than planned and forgetting how long they'd been dating to the day…that was no negative indication about the depth of his feelings for her.

After the main course was brought out and eaten and their dessert was ordered, Arthur allowed her to open the gift bag he'd kept close to him all night. And by close, we mean the bag shared the seat with him. He was very secretive about it. For every time Ariadne so much as glanced at it he felt the need to push it further behind him. God forbid Ariadne see the color of tissue paper or the surprise would be ruined…First, she pulled out a brand new Nikon camera with a variety of lenses and memory cards (she claimed she would faint but he insisted she keep going first). Then there was a nice tribal print backpack that she squealed over (she'd needed a new one. She'd been using the same old faithful black one since her sophomore year of high school and couldn't bring herself to get a new one because the straps hadn't fallen completely off yet). Inside were: designer aviator sunglasses, an assortment of sandals and several of Ariadne's signature item of clothing. She unraveled a beautiful peach scarf and a key fell out of it. Ariadne laughed when she picked it up, "The key to our apartment?"

Arthur beamed like a man who knew the answer to the secret of the universe, "No. The key to our villa."

When her eyebrows crinkled and her head turned suspiciously (because, um, they didn't have a villa anywhere), he reached in his jacket pocket and pulled out a folded map from a travel agency. In bright colors on the front it read **Kastelorizo Island, Greece. **The very island her dad stayed at in college as a foreign exchange student and studied philosophy, mythology and literature. The very island her dad picked out the name Ariadne and decided that should he ever have a daughter it had to be one of her names. The very island Ariadne's father told her a million amazing stories about and instilled a desire to visit it. Ariadne's hand clapped over her mouth, "Oh my God!" Delight sparkled in her brown orbs. Arthur placed the brochure on the table in front of her and grinned, "I wasn't in Moscow for a business meeting. I was hunting down the perfect vacation home for the summer. I meant to make it back Thursday but the paperwork took longer than I expected. I would never forget _our _anniversary, are you kidding me?"

The woman zealously skimmed over the pictures and basic tour information in the pamphlet with a thrilled expression plastered across her face, "You sneaky bastard."  
xxxxxx

The drive home was abuzz with excitement and astonishment. The Architect spent the dessert course circling everything they had to see and asking him things like how far they were from town, how close to the coast were they, what did the villa look like. At the red light, Arthur braked and inquired, "So I gather you're happy with your present?"

"I'm ecstatic! I can't wait. I wish I could skip exams and leave tomorrow!" He'd never been more proud of himself seeing her hug the backpack to her chest and cheerily looking out the window. The Point glanced up in time to see the light turn green again. His foot moved off the pedal and he joked, "Skip them then."

"Well I mean I would also like to pass my classes…I'm one semester away from being done and if I have to take that course about Gaudi again I will throw myself into the Seine like Officer Javert but excluding the three minute long song before."

"Yeah. You should save France the horror," chuckled the man.

The Architect gasped in mock offense, "Excuse me? What happened to Mr. Flattering?" He shook his head and tried to hide his grin. "You enjoy when I belt 'My Heart Will Go On' at the end of Titanic…" Her finger pointedly poked him.

His eyes stayed on the road but his hand reached to the side to pat her leg, "I _enjoy_ you making a fool of yourself, sweetheart."

"So the truth comes out now." Her arms folded over her chest with a huff but she was smiling. "I suppose you think my dancing sucks, too?"

"Oh no. You're a very talented dancer. Especially in your underwear," smirked the Point. He briefly turned his head to wiggle his eyebrows at her suggestively. "You should do some dancing for me when we get home."

Ariadne's head flew back against the headrest and her eyes rolled, "Oh my God…" The woman accused, rolling her head to aimlessly watch the traffic out her window, "Gender equality, Arthur. I'm not a piece of meat. You always objectify me!" What made that SO funny was the fact that Arthur didn't. Their shared laughter filled all the empty space in the car. The roof, the floorboards, every nook and cranny.

Arthur retorted, "I like to call it admiring…" pretending to defend himself.

"I'd like to call you a smartass."

The car turned the corner at the intersection, "I'd like to call you the love of my—"

"Arthur!" He barely registered the sheer panic and terror in her voice before bright lights blinded him and he felt impact on the far side of the car—Ariadne's side. The vehicle spun circles as it slid through the slick and narrow Parisians streets; his arm instinctively bolted to shield her from the crushing metal and keep her body inside the car in case she wasn't seat-belted. He crossed it over her at chest level (pushing her backpack against her in the process) and sunk his fingernails into the side of her seat to the point of the leather splitting. It happened too quickly. First, Ariadne's hands gripped at his forearm and then the tail of the car smashed into a lamppost. Her nails raked along his arm as she was thrown to the right. Then he couldn't feel her fingers anymore. The airbags flew open, all but one of the windows shattered, the black windshield was bashed and the front one cracked.

Arthur's eyes squeezed shut and he relaxed his body so it would ride out the rebound of the crash. Unfortunately, his head still hit the steering wheel hard and he was sure his arm had nearly busted open from using all his strength to keep Ariadne's airbag from crushing her tiny form. As soon as he was sure the car had stopped movement, he wriggled his other arm up to break off a shard of glass from the window which he then used to cut and pop his airbag and then hers. Blood trickled down his forehead at the crease of his right eye, the appendage protecting his girlfriend was all cut up, covered in dots of blood and felt dislocated. His girlfriend—

Ariadne's eyes were open but they were glazed over; she wouldn't blink. Her terse breathing was fading into puffs. The Point man forced his arm to rouse her and rasped, "Ari?" His good arm wrenched the backpack and tossed it in the backseat. She hadn't escaped a large slice under her right collarbone from the seatbelt and her nose bled and dripped. There was a cut on her forehead where she must've hit her head on the window. Arthur clicked both their belts off with much difficulty (he was beginning to see stars) and struggled to maneuver nearer to her, basically sitting on the console, "Ariadne," his voice scratched. The Architect's head lolled down, bloody curls now covering her visage.

He pushed her tresses out of her face frantically and lifted her head, anchored her neck to look at him. (His head was beginning to pound as the adrenaline wore down. He felt weaker and more tired but he furiously fought to keep consciousness for her sake) "Please baby, say something." The siren sounds of ambulances started to echo, the faint sounds of music blared in the background, Arthur shouted as loud as he could ground out, "Somebody help!" He was losing his grip on cognizance rapidly; his vision was blurring and not because of the warm salty water leaking from his eyes. Arthur pulled gently on her to line their foreheads up. He couldn't feel the tickle of her breath and it made all the cuts seem deeper. The bruises worse. "Please. Please, Ari, breathe for me."

Then he was hauled away from her form, pulled out the driver side's window by several men in uniform. His words jumbled but his arms outstretched and he could still form one coherent thought: _Her first. Save her first. _A slew of hands ripped her door off the hinge and lifted her body.

Arthur felt the sturdiness of a stretcher underneath his back. Emergency technicians rushed around him a blur, asking, "Sir, can you hear us? Sir?" The Point's eyes fluttered as he struggled to sit up and find Ariadne. Where was she? Where was she? Where was she? They pushed him back down, "You need to lie down."

There Ariadne was. As his head lolled to the side he found the perfect view of her on her own stretcher. The lights of the ambulance and police cars lit up her face as one medic beat on her chest, "I've got her breathing again," another was trying to stop the bleeding on her head and one was reading her pulse with a handheld machine, "Pulse is still too weak. Her heart's barely beating. Charge the defibrillator."

Arthur's medics should've all been over there helping _her. _His limbs felt heavy as he tried to lift them and push the medics away. If they couldn't save Ariadne, Arthur didn't want to be saved either.

Everything tapered out into blackness.  
xxxxxx

Next thing Arthur knew he woke up in a dimly lit study. He was laid out on a brown leather sofa, the embers of the fireplace across from him crackling a Good Morning and toasting him up from head to toe. His body still felt the stings and aches from the impact however when he examined his body, he had not a scratch on him save for the prick in his wrist. All the ailments vanished as soon as his mind decided to reject the memory. Arthur followed the lead from his arm to the hissing PASIV, to the other dreamer hooked up to it. The other form jolted into consciousness and swerved their head to judge the Point. Realizing Arthur was awake, the blonde launched himself at him, "Thank God…I was beginning to think you weren't ever going to come back to us." He yelled over the back of the couch, "Stephen! It worked!"

Upon hearing the Professor's name, Arthur became aware of the true nature of his surroundings. He was in Miles' personal library in the back of his home in Villefranche. "Fuck. You scared the shit out of us," continued Cobb as he pulled Arthur up to sit and took the lead out, "You need anything? Water? Are you tired? How are you feeling, Art?"

The Point Man was confused. Had he been in a coma since the accident? More importantly, "Is she alright? I need to see her," Arthur jumped up from the sofa (more shakily than he anticipated) to search for his girlfriend. She was near death last he remembered.

Dominic guided him back down, worried, "What are you talking about?"

Arthur gritted in panic mode. Had she not been recovered? Had the car burst into flames with her inside? But he saw her on the stretcher! That couldn't be…Was she already dead on impact? They couldn't bring her back with the heart machine? Was she in the next room over? Was she in a coma? Was she asking for him? "Ariadne." Arthur gripped Cobb's shoulders as hard as he gripped the side of her seat to keep her inside the vehicle, "Where's Ariadne, Dom? Tell me she's alive."

"Ariadne? Who's Ariadne?"

_And it all starts again.  
It all starts again in The End._

xxxxxx

What do you think so far? I know it's a bit short but this chapter was mostly just the set up and some sweet fluffliness.


	2. Belief

Thanks for the response! _Neverlandspirit: _I'm really excited you love it and I hope you continue to! And no problem…I was missing posting so bad that I was like 'whatever. I sort of have a main plot line let's go for it' hahaha. _Lauraa-x: _That's what I like to hear lol. You never know. Anything is impossible in Inceptionverse. A little of that reasoning will be visited this chapter. Thank you! Can't wait for your analysis in later chapters! =) _cinematherapy: _thanks! And I will. Lol. _Whatshername76: _Yay! We will definitely be questioning it as much as Arthur will be questioning it.

So honored to have favorites and follows after just the first chapter. Huge thanks to the very sweet: _whatshername76, Skyler13 _and _Lauraa-x. _

P.S. I don't know whats going on with fanfiction and the random gibberish (which is always exactly the same. the whole "progress llways (ing room" stuff) in my a/n's. It happened the last few chapters of my last story and these. But I'm continuing to figure out how to get rid of it and I hoped it worked. Because it never shows up for me, I literally don't see it until I go back and look later on the site.

**Chapter 2: Belief**

_Belief makes things real,  
Makes things feel, feel alright.  
Belief makes things true.  
Things like you, you and I.  
_—Gavin Degraw

"Ariadne? Who's Ariadne?"

It was like Arthur had the wind knocked out of him. Dumfounded from the shock, Arthur dropped his hands from Dom's shoulders. What did he mean _who's _Ariadne? He leveled a look at the Extractor sitting across from him, "The Architect from Inception."

Cobb's eyes grew dark as he stilled and stiffened from the mention of it. The blonde twisted and agitatedly turned the music off. Arthur was so caught up in the remnants of the dream upon waking that he didn't hear the faint melody of "_Non, je ne regrette rien…_" coming from the headphones and mp3 on the cushion by Dom's leg. He could've sworn he heard music before passing out on the stretcher. Dom peered at him in a paranoid manner, "What do you know about Inception?" his voice steely and hushed since the Professor was in hearing distance.

"Everything?" replied Arthur as Dom regarded him wildly, embarrassed, "That it's the reason you can go home."

"You know I can't go home, Arthur," rubbing his palm up and down his face, Cobb grit, "They think I killed her."

What? Arthur's pulse sped up and he insisted, "No, you can. Saito fixed your charges after our inception on Robert Fischer." What game was Dom playing? Because it wasn't funny. He could cut the crap.

Cobb's face twisted into seven shades of worry. He plopped onto the sofa and took Arthur's shoulders, "No…Saito ambushed us on the roof of our hotel in Japan after we failed the Cobol job. He forced us under. I woke up in a dumpster in an alleyway in Sydney all beaten and shit (Its true. Cobb had the healing black eye and scabs to prove it) with a strange and random yet firm resolve never to cross Mr. Saito again. I tore Australia apart only to stumble on you here in Paris in one of the warehouses."

Arthur fumbled for his totem: his trusty red dice. He rolled it. It landed on six...like it should. Cobb caught the confusion on his face and suggested, "You may want to scrounge up another totem just in case. They've been compromised. I think that's one reason you were lost down there for so long…because they found and manipulated it." Arthur stayed guffawing at the cube and its six white dots on the floor. How could this be reality? And how come his totem worked in the other reality too?

Dom's words whizzed by him like wind, "They got a hold of mine too. I woke up by accident not because I realized I was dreaming. I think the fall from the truck to the dumpster gave me a kick…one second I was calling you up to talk about another extraction job and the next I'm lying in leftover shrimp. I've had to construct a new top," he pulled a newer looking silver spinning top from his pocket to show.

So Arthur had been lost for over two years in dream time? He'd imagined the impossible job and reckless romance? He'd fallen in love with his own subconscious? (How terribly narcissistic of him.) Miles came bounding through the door and over to Arthur. "My God, you gave us a fright." The elder nodded to Dom and they both helped Arthur up (Arthur was naturally a bit weak), "Come, come. I've got hot tea ready for you," Miles insisted they go sit in the living area to soothe the Point's nerves.

The seating in the living area was far more worn and comfortable than that of Miles' office. Probably because it was less expensive and more frequented. It was ribbed and dark orange; a permanent indention on the left cushion. Arthur set himself there. Meanwhile Cobb plopped next to him and Stephen placed two mugs of earl grey in front of them on the coffee table. Miles then situated himself in the lazyboy recliner from the same set of furniture to the right of Dom and the end table. As Arthur just sat there staring off into space, his friend picked up the mug for him and set it into his hands. Dom and Miles gave him some silence as he sipped. They both—especially Dom—knew what it was like to be thrown into reality after a lengthy and vivid dream. Everything you knew seems foreign. They watched patiently as he rolled his dice a second and third time and then scanned the living room: The prints of Monet paintings on the walls, the grey paint, Miles' worn out house slippers in the corner by the bookcase. The end table and on it the mosaic shaded lamp, the copy of War and Peace and a silver frame with a clock on one side and a picture of a petite architect with familiar brown orbs and welcoming smile on the other.

Arthur sat his mug down harshly on the coffee table (he missed the coaster and slammed it on the glass which elicited a loud and unforgiving clank) and reached over Cobb to take hold of the picture. _She was real. _"Professor."

"Yes, son?" the Professor's fatherly stare was wary but intrigued at the same time.

"This girl." With two hands gripping either side, he brought the picture an inch from his face desperately and studied the curvature of her smile, counted each freckle on her face. It was undoubtedly the girl of his dream. The one Dom claimed not to know of. "What is her name?"

Miles broke into a grin. That of a proud papa. "Ariadne. Unique, I know." Cobb crinkled his brows and looked to Arthur (obviously he wondered how that could be. How Arthur could conjure up a real person he'd never met in his head.) Oblivious, the Professor praised on, "My new Dominic Cobb as it were. She is a _brilliant_ young woman; I've taken her under my wing."

Oh yeah…NOW Dom recognized the name. He knew Miles' new protégé had a strange sounding one. Didn't expect it to be the random one Arthur woke up babbling about though…But how was it possible for Arthur to recognize someone he'd never met? The only reason she looked familiar to Dom when he peeked over Arthur's shoulder at the picture was because the frame had been sitting on Miles' end table for three years now. Actually on second thought…if he thought hard to remember the dream he pulled Arthur out of, he did sort of place her face on the girl Arthur paraded around town that night. The one in Arthur's car. There was no way she could've shared the dream with them, she wasn't hooked up to the PASIV. Still, he might've found some other way to get Arthur out besides ramming a vehicle into the her side of the car if he suspected she wasn't some clingy projection holding his Point Man under. But she was wasn't she? Had to be.

Stephen stilled and analyzed the man as if the air was sucked out of the room by the Point Man's odd behavior. Having known Arthur for most of his adult life, it was common knowledge that the young man kept things close to his chest. And 'close' meaning nearly invisible. Arthur did not attach himself (with exception to the Miles/Cobb family but only because they took him in and he felt obligated to be loyal). What little emotion he actually felt he bottled up. You never saw its effects on him. He didn't live per say, his gears merely turned. But here he was staring at Miles' protégé's picture with unwavering reverence. With Miles' own warm feelings towards Ariadne, It moved him to comment, "Do you know her?"

When Arthur went to answer yes, Dom cut him off, "He woke up asking for her."

"We were together in the dream. In a relationship, I mean. It was very serious. I was starting to think about marrying her…"

The Professor's response was to emphatically blink and glance at the back of the frame Arthur was holding. If there was any question that his protégé actually shared that dream it was proven wrong by his standards. Ariadne was in no way ready for monogamy. She had a boyfriend for a few years (they mutually called it off when he dropped out of school…) but she was much better suited on her own. Ariadne was a _very _independent woman. She kicked ass and took names. She was definitely more interested in her career than snatching up a man. That was also due to her proud feministic views and high standards for males. Most of them, she believed were assholes not worth her time. Not that marriage was exactly Arthur's cup of tea. He was married to his work. He was a lot like Ariadne in that respect—finding their passion for their career choices more important than hopping bars for companionship. Arthur hadn't had a girlfriend since Miles knew him. But at the same time Arthur was traditional. He was a gentleman. Marriage was completely characteristic for him, completely his style. Arthur was committed to everything he did and everyone he cared about, if he found the right girl it wasn't a surprise to Miles that he would devote himself to her forever. Ariadne would have a harder time settling down and being even the slightest bit domestic. She wanted years and years of architecture and adventure first.

But it _was_ a shock to hear that that 'right girl' was Ariadne. And not even really Ariadne. Now, it wasn't a shock because Ariadne wasn't capable of attracting men. Despite her disinterest in them, many were interested in her fiery allure. Arthur was a man. He wouldn't escape that fate. It was more of a shock because it came out of nowhere. And well...it was a small world.

Dom's response was to glance at Arthur with furtive concern, "there must've been a projection of her down there that you—_believed_ you were in a relationship with."

Miles' eyebrows rose but he seemed to be the only one that understood. In fact, he nodded in agreement and let a small chuckle slip, "I'm actually not surprised she left an impression on your subconscious. Put Ms. Bourgeois in a room with anyone for ten seconds and she'll brand you with her personality."

"Wait. You met her in reality?" inquired Cobb, flabbergasted. Even _he_ had only heard of the up and coming female version of himself (well and seen the picture). And how would Arthur have made her acquaintance without him? He normally only came to Paris when he accompanied Dom.

The Professor finished a swig from his mug and nodded enthusiastically, "Yes. Yes, and you did too." His hand waved flippantly, "Maybe not formally. She was here for dinner last year over Christmas break when you and Arthur barged in to leave presents for me to take to the children." Without break he addressed Arthur again, "You probably only saw her in passing but those encounters make for the best projections."

Now that Miles brought it up, Arthur _did_ remember a smallish, curly haired figure mixing a salad in the kitchen while they passed through to get to Stephens' study. He hadn't paid attention to her though because she looked like a teenager. Or he _thought _he hadn't paid attention to her. His subconscious proved that theory wrong.  
xxxxxx

The two men were going to duck it out in Paris until there was news that Saito moved on to the next group of heads to chop. Since he'd been awake a week or so longer and had time to recoup, Cobb went out to find a hotel for them to stay in while Arthur rested at Miles' the remainder of the day. The Point showered to clear his head, picked through some of the books in the library and then joined the elder of the two for dinner. The spaghetti went down his throat before the question came up it, "She lives in the fourth arrondissement. Correct?"

Miles sighed. All day (since Cobb left) Arthur sporadically brought Ariadne up in form of basic facts: _She is studying Architecture with a minor in Art History. She dislikes Gaudi's style most of all. Does your protégé have a penchant for scarves? Her family lives in Maryland. She craves Chinese food, doesn't she?_ They were little things he remembered from the dream that he wanted Stephen to confirm so that he could justify her existence. Or rather, find a way to make their imagined relationship a tangible one. Some things didn't match up (like this one) but some things did. Which—to Arthur—proved something but to Miles only proved coincidence. "No. Sixth."

Frustration flickered across Arthur's face for a second and then was gone. He plunged back into deep thought while twirling the pasta on his fork. Miles eyed him, not looking at the parmesan he was sprinkling on his own plate. The obsessive nature being displayed was not Arthur's and it bothered him more and more after each invested query. "Her middle name is Grace. Am I correct?" stated the Point Man. His fork of noodles halted in front of his mouth, waited for a reply before entrance.

Stephen picked up on the minute fidget of the boy's fingers on his utensil. There was no use in telling him he was right. Her full name was on the framed copy of her honors society letter she had sent Miles which was currently tacked on the fridge. Right behind Arthur. It'd been hanging there since her freshman year and Arthur often helped himself to bottles of tea inside the fridge when he and Dom visited. Another detail about her his subconscious could've easily picked up. Miles abandoned his plate for a sip of wine and then clasped his hands on the table to look at Arthur sternly. "You were lost in the dreams for a while." How could he break it to him gently without coming across as accusatory, "You're disoriented. Confused. I know it's difficult to wake up one day and find out everything you've lived and experienced for two years was fabricated. That a very important relationship with another person was in your mind—"

"—She's real though, Professor," the utensil rested back on the rim of his plate. Spaghetti left to get cold. "Ariadne Bourgeois is a living, breathing, walking person."

"Yes. But she's not the person you think she is." Miles shook his head and sighed again. He needed to be patient and cut Arthur some slack. After all, Mal was just as fervent about her delusions being real. And it was neither of their faults that their brains had been tampered with. When he spoke again it was gentler. "Your subconscious took a name and a face and projected the ideal personality for you to become involved with into it." Arthur stared at his plate, hands in his lap, shaking his head. "You're not in love with the Ariadne here. The _real _Ariadne. _My _little Ariadne. You're in love with her template. Please accept that and drop it before it drives you insane."  
xxxxxx

Arthur let it slide for the rest of dinner. But lying on his back and staring at the chipping white popcorn ceiling in his hotel room, he could not shake it. He hadn't bothered to change into clothes (purchased in the city so he'd have something else to wear) to sleep in or to turn down the plush comforter of the bed. The tv only annoyed him; only reminded him of Downton Abbey and the Architect. Out past his closed blinds, the Eiffel Tower sparkled from base to tip, tourists and couples perused the streets on their way back from dinner and the like. He couldn't look out at the city without wondering where Ariadne was. What she was doing. If she would remember him if she saw him and most unlikely…if she would love him the same as she did while he was under. Every now and again, a fellow hotel patron would stroll down the hall or some kids would run and yell excitedly and their parents would get on to them because 'some people are trying to sleep, boys'. There was the ever present humming of the room's air conditioner in the background. He hadn't bothered to fool with the temperature. The room was freezing. So cold, he muscles seized in effort to create warmth but he couldn't bring himself to get up. Arthur was trapped in his pitch black box of thoughts. He was possessed by the idea. All the promises the name 'Ariadne' held. Arthur was like both the Cobbs all in one.

Like Dom: Haunted.  
Every time his eyes closed, her face was the first thing to pop up in his mind. Her face smirking at him as she sauntered back into the warehouse fiddling with her red jacket and quipping about creation. Her eyes shining and smiling, sitting on a bench in the park, joking about Eames. Her heavy lids and mouth agape, sighing his name. Her deadened gaze in the smashed vehicle. Arthur was in that desperate state his coworker dwelled in constantly. Where all they truly wanted was to lose themselves again—even if just for a moment—to love and be loved in the midst of impossibility.

Like Mal: Consumed.  
The Point Man knew the dangers of staying in a dream for too long. As did Mal. They both knew they could lose themselves. And still, while everyone told them they had been found, they insisted they were still lost. Even as every scrap of evidence established their world was real, a deep-rooted feeling ate at them. Whispered to them they might be wrong. For Arthur, it was hard to comprehend a world where he and Ariadne weren't together even if that world happened to be reality. If that was the case maybe he didn't want reality. That notion scared him shitless more than anything else ever had.

In the dream, he and Ariadne were warned of the danger of their serious relationship by everyone in dreamshare that knew them. Arthur had to admit he was paranoid himself that her passion for dream share might cause her to slip from sanity. He held out on her at first because he was terrified of becoming Dom and Mal. Everyone always drew the parallel between those two. Always instilled the fear that Ariadne was going to trail-blaze down Mal's foosteps. Fall down Mal's spiral.

How did everyone know it wouldn't be Arthur?

But how could he justify sacrificing his life for the illusion of someone, for the illusion of devotion? For a being his brain had created of his own volition to pass the time in the dream. What still continued to baffle Arthur was the fact that Ariadne Bourgeois wasn't entirely a conjure of his imagination. She existed. But the paradox was that while _she _existed and _he _existed, _they_ didn't exist. It was a universal fallacy for them to be but not _be_. He felt down to the marrow in his bones that he still belonged with Ariadne and whoever she turned out to be here in the waking realm. So this had to be a nightmare. Someone was hiding something, manipulating him.

He pulled out his laptop to research Fischer-Morrow. For proof the empire had crumbled as a result of he and the Inception team. There were articles scattered all over the web mourning Fischer Sr. but nothing that suggested it had affected the corporation in any way. While Robert inherited the company, Mr. Browning was appointed CEO. There were rumored negotiations of them buying out Saito Industries and gaining full control of the energy industry but no plans were solid as of yet. Fischer-Morrow seemed to be moving along as powerful as ever. And Robert had fallen into a drinking problem as a result of losing someone so disappointed in his failures.

But HOW can you just plot and execute an inception in your head? It always bit at him that Eames insisted he had no imagination. Arthur had some…but not that much, dammit. (And here is why he knew he was crazy, now. Because why would he argue he wasn't equipped creatively enough to do such?) Then again, dreams feel real while you're in them so it's plausible that he could believe an impossible job was successful. In truth, that was the type of job that could _only_ have a good outcome in a dream. Or you know…He was loyal to Dom. He wanted Dom to be able to get home. So did his dream-self scrounge up a far-fetched way to get him there? Or was it an excuse for him not to follow his best friend around like Lassie anymore? Did he harbor some reluctance or blame Dominic for having to keep an eye on him? Or perhaps it was to fulfill the hidden desire in himself to settle with a nice girl? But that had been so unexpected. Arthur hadn't wanted a serious relationship, had no need of one. Ariadne came in and stole his heart before he blinked. It wasn't something he yearned for when they first met. He never anticipated that he would want to move in together, or put a label on them or that he would contemplate being with her for the rest of his life. Why would he dream up something the old Arthur—reality Arthur—wouldn't have initiated even as a last resort? Maybe that's why it felt so realistic.

He had to figure this out.

Arthur opened another tab and searched her up. Where she lived, where she frequented, when her classes were. He had to see her if he was going to make sense of this. He needed proof that this Ariadne wasn't_ his _Ariadne.

xxxxxx

The Point Man watched her for weeks. He rented a black Beamer from somewhere in town and claimed to Cobb that he was doing surveillance for a new job. And he was…there was a project in the works he would ask the Extractor to sign on for once he finalized the requirements and got permission to build his own team. He did research on it in the hours she spent in the classroom to pass the time. No doubt, Dom was concerned about Arthur's stability and whether delving back into dreams would be good for him but Arthur insisted that working was what kept him grounded. The more occupied his mind was, the more normal he'd feel again.

Problem was—what his mind was occupied with.

Live in the sixth arrondissement, she did. Floor five. A corner flat. That allowed for him to have access to her through two windows. Both were rectangular and gratuitous. The one on the farther side was longer in width and looked into her kitchenette and what he could make out was a living/study area. The top of a dark blue sofa peeped out over a big black box (tv) in the back of his view. Nearer to the window, he guessed she either had a window-seat or a breakfast table because she would sit their most early mornings with a book and a cup of tea or coffee (which he observed depended on how late she stayed up the night before) and gaze out onto the misty maze of roads. The bottom of the window began a little below her shoulder level. Sometimes in the afternoon, she would come home from school and (obviously) shower before sitting in the comfy alcove to study with dripping wet hair. This Ariadne was a devoted studier just like his had been. In fact, most of her late nights were spent with her nose buried in the textbooks. The television was seldom used. She mostly used it for noise because it was always flashing but hardly ever the focus of her attention. More often than not, the architecture student would eat dinner in front of that window—the delicacies of a starving undergrad like frozen dinners, sandwiches, cereals and (it startled yet relieved him) Chinese takeout. Judging from how long it took the delivery boy to show up after her call, The Point Man had narrowed her restaurant of choice down to three possibilities. Le Chow's was two blocks down, Yums was across the street (if it was them, they were terribly slow) and Le Orientale was one block west and across the bridge. The window on the other side of the corner was longer up and down. Through process of elimination, it could only be the one in her bedroom. The drapes were always closed (he couldn't quite make out the color of them) but her silhouette was always seen last in that room at night and first in that room in the morning.

The creepy nature of his "research" on her was not lost on Arthur. After all, if Miles and Cobb and everyone else he'd sought advice from were right—and there was a good ninety-nine percent chance that they were—he was stalking a complete stranger. There _is _a fine line between romantic attachment, curiosity and cause for a restraining order. And there were moments—like when Ariadne's eyes would cut side to side nervously and shut her curtains in haste. Or when she crossed campus to meet with Miles (the sight of the old man guilt Arthur into wanting to pack up, leave Paris and find a dream therapist to erase her from his mind). Or when she would halt in the middle of the street and look over her shoulder in suspicion—where it all seemed clear that Arthur was out in left field, here. Completely wrong. That he had no justifiable reason to be watching the young girl like a hawk. Everything felt so clean cut and certain. And he could almost, _almost _believe he should forget about her and this whole mess.

Then there were other moments—where Ariadne would be walking home in the evening. A loaf of French bread in one hand, the other swinging in time with her strides which were not bouncy but not a glide either. Her messenger bag bumping against the back of her hip and her gaze trained on the streetlamps flickering on like fireflies around her…just like the stroll he'd memorized. Or when she was out for lunch with friends and would order the large soda and barely sip at it. And as he remembered, would tear her burger into fours and nibble. Pick it apart and dip everything into ranch dressing. Her method of eating would suggest she ate like a bird but Ariadne cleaned her plate like a bottomless pit. Or the times when she would break off half of her sandwich and feed it to the stray dog hobbling down the street with empathy and nurturance, showing that ever bleeding heart—that was when everything seemed dark and murky. When all signs lit up in neon and pointed at the girl. Told him she was the same person he dreamt up. Had to be. And the rest of the planet had to be conspiring against him. He couldn't just imagine something so perfect and complex and beautiful as she.

But how on earth was she so perfect and complex and beautiful in every dimension? In the dream. In reality. The quality of that magnificent creature was too consistent to be a creation of his or anyone else's.

One day, around his third week of surveillance he braved the patisserie she visited every Monday and Wednesday morning before her study group met. The class prepared them for real world job situations so every week they were rotated on a group project to learn about delegation, working with others (some who you may not like) and etcetera. Everyone brought a snack to wake them up and she always picked up half a dozen croissants and half a dozen éclairs from Gateau Bebe. Roughly around seven, seven twenty-ish depending on how late she slept in. And most weekends she would drop by and pick up some macaroons for herself in the afternoons before they closed up shop. Since she was a regular, they gave her deals at the end of the week to clear out the shoppe and prepare for fresh goods. Normally, Arthur waited on the bench in front of the bakery with newspaper in hand until she breezed by him and the bells of the door sounded. The wind caused by her stroll sent a waft of graphite and vanilla mixed with something tropical. Pineapple maybe. The second was fleeting but Arthur always waited for it to pass. Then he would abandon his newspaper, promptly walk down the street to his car and get in to wait for her to go somewhere else. He did that Monday, Wednesday, Saturday and Sunday for two weeks before he randomly, compulsively, made to follow her inside. Just once…he told himself resolutely.

He had been right in the judgment of her height in the dream—accurately so. The top of her head was level with his collar bones. Ariadne woke up on the dot today for she had ample time to French braid her hair back from her face and put effort into her outfit before class. She donned skinny ankle pants (orange with small white dots), a white, sleeveless blouse, brown cardigan and lacy scarf. A quiet tapping noise came from her fingers dancing against her bag while she waited. The line wasn't long this early. She was called up within seconds. This Ariadne bounded to the counter with some Euros already pulled out for the register. Arthur didn't think to figure that they'd be expecting her (It was routine. Why wouldn't they?). That they would pull her order from behind the counter with knowing smiles and thank her, telling her to have fun in class almost instantaneously. The exchange was faster than he anticipated and the man found himself clinging to the back of her head with his eyes as she quickly ambled out without acknowledging him. Without even noticing him. As if there had been no one behind her. Behind her—he forgot he'd have to order something eventually. Arthur half-heartedly pointed to something behind the glass and asked for a cup of espresso to go. He tossed bills on the counter, told them to keep the change, grabbed his breakfast and paced out and back to his car, mad at himself for giving in and breaking his self-enforced protocol. He was so self-absorbed and angry, in fact, that he blazed through the crowds while ripping open the wrapping of his pastry and not paying attention where he was going.

He bumped right into her.

His hands instinctively flew to steady the girl and her box of pastries before he saw the polka dots on her shins and realized who it was. Arthur's blood slowed to a stop when their eyes met. This was love…he still felt it. Still felt the prickles along his skin from touching her. Still melted when her mouth formed the perfect '0'. His coffee was knocked out of his hands and splashed in an explosion of black liquid at their feet which caused her to jump to avoid the scalding drink and keep her pants stain free. Arthur choked, "I'm sorry."

She shook her head, blushing a little and readjusted her box of goodies, "No, I'm sorry. I'm the one chilling in the middle of the walkway." The Architect's laugh was spurred by nervousness and she made an excuse while her hand dug through her bag, "I can't find the key to the lock on my bicycle." His eyes scanned to the right and saw the infamous vintage, yellow bike. The one she owned in his dream was a sea foam green he'd noted weeks ago. Ariadne scooted closer to the curb to let him pass and dropped the conversation. Arthur walked a few paces then turned back. He could pick the lock on it for her, start up a conversation. Yet, shiny silver reflected at him as she pulled the key out of the front pocket and knelt down to unchain her mode of transportation. Pivoting back around, he acted no more interested in her than she was of him and waited til her wheels were long gone in the eastern direction to drive over to the University. It was only natural that he overanalyze the few sentences they shared. She regarded him as a simple stranger. Not even a hint that she recognized him at all could be traced in her eyes. That should've been enough for him to drop it.  
xxxxxx

But Arthur was feeling bold on that day of days. He strode into the campus, found her 11:30 class with Stephen and sat at the top in the back row, hidden in the shadows of the corner for the period. The class was taking their mid-terms that week so it was silent save for the shuffling of papers and awkward clearing of throats. When the last student had left (Ariadne was one of the first to finish) he stood to make himself known to the Professor.

Miles already sensed he was there, "Need something, Mr. Talesco?" He took the stack of papers and tapped them on the desk to line them up better, "That's the only time you visit me without Dom. And he only visits when _he _needs something. I trust you're doing much better? Dom said you were back to work."

Hands in pockets, (he always felt like a young child in trouble when in Miles' presence even in his expensive suits and elusive Point mask) Arthur descended the stairs of the auditorium to stand in front of the elder at his desk. "I've got a new job lined up and I'm in need of an Architect—" He could tell what the older man was fixing to suggest before he opened his mouth—"Cobb can't build anymore. Mal's projection won't let him."

Stephen's eyes narrowed, "You have millions of contacts. I'm sure one of them will do."

Still, Arthur pushed, face straight and un-emoting as ever, "I need someone better than Dom and everyone knows you breed the best to be had."

"You want to corrupt one of my brightest and best." Miles reiterated for him. He leant back in his chair. Clasped his hands on his stomach. Waited to see which move the young man would make in their game of skirting around and avoiding the elephant in the room.

Arthur licked his lips. Avoided the man's eye, "It's a simple, two level extraction for a private firm. Experience isn't a requirement. There is no threat if we fail. Whomever you choose should fit the bill," his stare flickered back to the Professor darkly (because he was trying to cloak the hope).

Nothing got passed Miles.

"I'm not introducing you to Ariadne," he clipped. Arthur had time for a hard swallow before the Professor continued, "I don't want her exposed to dream share. She possesses real world potential and I want her to use it. I made a mistake with you, Dom and my own daughter; I will not make it with Ms. Bourgeois."

"All we need is someone to design. She won't be needed in the field," reasoned the Point Man, using all his weight to lean over the desk with his hands. He was ready to promise anything.

Miles exhaled and stood to wipe off the chalkboard, "What do you think will happen, son? That she'll see you and magically be who you want her to be? Do you think you can merely recreate your dream and that'll make her fall in love with you? Because Ariadne isn't the type of girl to be wooed by love at first sight." He wished he hadn't turned to gage Arthur's reaction because it was made up of hard and shamefaced eyes. Stephen tossed the eraser onto his desk with the shake of his head, "Arthur, you're worrying me. It's been three weeks and you're still on this kick. Reject these ideas before they've consumed too much of you."

The Point dropped his elbows to Miles' desk and ran his hands through his hair, "You don't understand how hard that is for me. She was my world down there. I'm in love with her."

For the millionth time he tried to break it to Arthur, "You. Don't. Love. Her. _Please_, give it up. You'll drive yourself mad. I can't watch that happen to another young one I care about."

Arthur's head tilted. He didn't want to concern and stress Stephen out like this but it didn't feel like he was in control of it. The pleading, troubled, fatherly gaze from the Professor made Arthur feel remorseful when he confessed, "I just need to meet her. I need to spend time with her so I can convince myself of the differences. So I can convince myself that my Ariadne is not this one. So I can move on. Until I'm sure—I'm stuck."

He made a valid point. What he needed was to get out of his headspace and be forced to face the truth. Miles dragged out his answer warily so the young man could tell he was on the fence, "I don't want to risk her sanity for yours. She'll love it. I'm afraid she'll get sucked in forever. No one could ever replace Mal but Ariadne is like another daughter. She is very dear to me. I couldn't bear to lose her—the both of you—over this. Much less to play a part in it."

"I won't let her get sucked in. Give me one job's time and then I'll cut her off from the dream world. I give you my word," promised the Point.

Silence.

"Her next class ends in an hour and a half in building two. We'll approach her then."

_Oh, you stood by me  
And I'll stand by my belief._

Xxxxxx

So the confusion builds. Explanations make sense as well. What did you think of A/A's coffee encounter and what are you expecting their introduction through Miles to be like… ooooooooh ;) Poor Arthur is going to go insane over her I think.


	3. Don't You Remember

**Thank you!: **_neverlandspirit _yeah…it already doesn't look like his questions are leading down a clear cut path. _Lauraa-x: _Oh yeah. See in Arthur's head (and all of ours) it's completely plausible for him to be watching her. We for all intents and purposes (in this fic) shipped what was perhaps in Arthur's head. We're in _his _headspace because we believed his dream too. But to an outsider? To Miles and Cobb? Arthur wakes up one day and is in love with a girl he's never met. Not only does he sit outside her apartment and watch her, he insists on bringing her into the dreamworld and dragging her into his questions of sanity. You are right it is CREEPY indeed. _Actorlove _and _ThePinkArcher _thank you for favoriting and following! Mwuah!

**Chapter 3: Don't You Remember?**

_I know I have a fickle heart  
And a bitterness and wandering eye  
And a heaviness in my hand  
But don't you remember?  
_ —Adele

Stephen stood at the bottom of the stairs leading up to building two. His back turned and his hand on the rail. He admired the foliage while they waited for people to pour out at the top of the hour. His attitude was non-chalant with a pinch of boredom (probably part of the quiet reluctance coursing through him). The Point Man on the other hand was a bundle of nerves under his cool exterior; he feigned a deep, meditative scrutiny of the student center across the way, pulling at the edges of his jacket to straighten it and adjusting the cuffs on his sleeves so they folded just so. Why did he feel nervous? It was Ariadne. Why would she care if there was a wrinkle in his sleeve or a strand out of place? She'd seen him in sweatpants, she'd seen him in swim trunks, she'd seen him completely naked. She'd seen him with bed hair, with stubble.

No, wait. She hadn't. That's why he was nervous. When they first met in the dream he didn't care. He was confident his grooming was perfection and above caring about her approval. But he wasn't in love with her that first day. Or many after that to be truthful. He would say it was love at first sight (curiosity and subtle attraction maybe) but they both knew that wasn't the case—just the tint of their rosy colored glasses when they glanced at the past. Today was different. Arthur cared too much about her approval. He needed her to see him the way she saw him in the dream. He needed her to feel that way and so everything had to be _just so_. (Because he hoped Ariadne would look at him and remember all those times she wrinkled his pressed suits with her small, graphite smudged hands. _Just so_).

It took restraint and self-preservation not to swerve around at the first scrape of the door. Students of all kinds flooded the stairs. A lot of them hurriedly passed Arthur in a rush: checking their phones, fishing for keys, fiddling with notebooks. He didn't turn until he heard the Professor greet her, "Ariadne."

"Hey," she was grinning at Stephen when Arthur caught sight of her jogging down the stairs. Her bag bounced off her hips like her curls bounced off her shoulders. Like the butterflies bounced about in Arthur's stomach when curiously, her eyes flitted towards him and narrowed, "Whoa," she looked back at Stephen, her thumb pointing in Arthur's direction, "_this_ is the guy that almost killed me in front of the bakery."

Both men stiffened which was only overlooked by Ariadne because of the humor she found in bumping into him again. Figuratively, this time. It was fleeting but Arthur was on the receiving end of an incredibly suspicious, incredibly threatening glare from Miles. The Professor wasn't naïve; he knew that wasn't mere coincidence. (But in Arthur's defense, he never meant to make contact. So it _was_ technically coincidence.) Just like that, Miles had put two and two together and was aware that Arthur's "recon" mark was really the Architect. And in a split second, in one glance, conveyed enough lividness to Arthur that Arthur inwardly cowered. His conscious already knew it was wrong to be watching her. So not only was his regret directed at the girl but directed at Stephen, "I apologize again."

Ariadne shook her head and shrugged passively, "It wasn't your fault."

Her eyebrows creased when she noticed the thin line of Miles' lips. Not wanting to stir up anything, he quickly dropped the expression and continued normally. "You remember the son-in-law that I told you about? Dominic Cobb?"

Ariadne nodded (even the simplest movement fascinated the Point) and glanced politely at Arthur again. "This isn't him," was partly a statement, mostly a question. "I thought he was blonde."

Miles chuckled at that (why was that funny? She had a thing for blondes.), "No, no. This is Mr. Nolan. Dom's good friend and business partner." The girl blinked at her mentor. The two men could tell by the part in her lips and slight tip of the head that she didn't know how she was supposed to respond to it. Like…did Miles really wait outside her classroom all the way across campus and seek her out for a random introduction? Since she asked a lot of questions about the strange son-in-law that stole into Paris every once and a while—whose sketches she marveled over when Miles shared them—was she supposed to be super excited about meeting his friend? She looked at Arthur again with yet another obligatory smile to avoid being rude. The question of why this mattered evident on her visage. "He has a job offer to discuss with you."

Ding. Her eyebrows rose. Eyes cut to Stephen then back to him. She flushed (gloriously, Arthur might add), embarrassed by her ignorance. It was covered over with professionalism and coolness when her stance shifted from one hip to other and her hand slid down the strap of her messenger bag, "Like a work placement?"

The Point Man inserted himself into the conversation before Miles and quipped, "Not exactly." His eyes smiled despite the rest of his blank facial. He could manage to hide all other traces of her effect on him but not the shine in his eyes when they rested on her. "I'd like to discuss the details over lunch tomorrow if that's feasible."

"Of course," she chirped, "what time?"

"11:00?"

Ariadne grimaced. Iffy, she looked at Miles, "Your 11:30…" She was the TA for Miles. Classes she'd completed and aced in earlier semesters, she helped out with now for extra cash.

Even though the Point knew Stephen was not fond of the idea of Arthur and Ariadne alone for lunch, no trace of anything but understanding and warmth showed in Miles' demeanor, "It's ok, I don't need your help tomorrow."

"Are you sure?" She smirked, "They're pretty dense, that class."

It was an inside joke apparently. Her and Miles exchanged knowing glances and he acted as if he wanted to get on to her but couldn't help chuckling along. Stephen shook his head and waved his hands, "I'll just be judging their models for the midterm. I can handle it."

Resolutely, Ariadne confirmed with Arthur, "11:00. To?"

How much time would be needed for the explanation? How much time could he get away with…? "Why don't we say around 1 ish?"

God, the way she squinted her eyes and tilted her head…_just so._ The Point Man had to pocket one of his hands so he could bruise it with his totem. The woman was doing nothing. _Absolutely nothing_ but standing there talking about times. Blinking. Subtly wringing her hand on the strap of her bag. Breathing. But she was undoing him. "Could we say 12:50 ish? I have to be back here at 1:05 for a midterm …"

"That shouldn't be a problem." Course, he wouldn't be the best Point to be had if he wasn't able to act unchanged. (Besides his eyes. Those shining eyes that she hadn't realized adored her yet.) "And I imagine the café just across the way would be the most convenient?"

"It would." Her reply was grateful.

"Then it's settled," said Arthur.

And Miles piped in, "Excellent."

"If that's all you needed, I've gotta run," said the woman to the Professor. Already? They hadn't been conversing five minutes. Arthur was hoping to casually slide into another conversation. She halfway apologized to Arthur, "I don't mean to be rude."

"Not at all."

Ever the grandfatherly figure, Stephen groaned at her, "You're not going to that god-awful student Cabaret party are you?"

Ariadne rolled her eyes, "No. I'm meeting Tyler in the library."

Not only did the mention of another male throw Arthur off course but Stephen's playful waggle of eyebrows caused an irrational fear to build. All the weeks he'd been watching her and there was no clear sign of a boyfriend or love interest. It eased him a little to see her make a face at the Professor and mouth 'stop'. Maybe that was only a relationship Miles _wanted to believe_ was there. (Did that sound familiar?) She first promised to let Stephen know how the lunch panned out and kissed him on the cheek.

Then Ariadne turned to give a much more diplomatic farewell than her greeting, "Nice meeting you, Mr. Nolan." Tragically she forwent a kiss on Arthur's cheek. They shook hands. The contact, as distant as it was, was bliss; the itch to fill the spaces between her fingers with his was as potent as the ache to breathe when you've held your breath too long.

"My pleasure." It was almost like a fix…being near her. Disconcerting because her mannerisms screamed that of his girlfriend. At least Arthur didn't return to his parking spot in viewing distance of her flat that night. He dutifully returned to his hotel room to prepare himself for the possibilities their luncheon would bring.  
xxxxxx

"Mr. Nolan?" Arthur had been perusing the menu outside the small café when she twittered from somewhere behind him. He pivoted to offer her a handshake, "Hello." Even the light grip seared. Embarrassingly, he started to pull her hand forward to kiss, dropping it halfway when he remembered himself. Ariadne blinked, cutting her eyes to the side. He hoped she wouldn't catch the strangeness, "Shall we?" and thankfully caught his other hand before it made contact with the small of her back and guided her in. It hovered a centimeter away from her sweater cumbersomely.

Her head discreetly bowed as she passed him with small thanks after he opened the door for her. It was the type of café where you ordered at the counter and the food was brought out to you based on your number. Reminiscent of the eateries they visited during the Fischer Job in his dream. Ariadne ordered first: a half order of Caesar salad and a baguette sandwich. Arthur stood close behind. His wallet surfaced reflexively. He had been buying her meals for so long (and yet never before) that it felt wrong to let her pay. "J'achete pour elle, (I'm paying for her)" he managed and handed the cashier some bills over Ariadne's shoulder. As the attendant pulled change, the architecture student smiled awkwardly, "Thank you, sir."

There were numerous things off beam with her reaction. For starters: _Sir? _He wasn't that much older than her. He didn't address her as ma'am or madam or miss. The formality disturbed him. And his Ariadne had always protested when he offered to buy things for her, said it made her feel bad. Then again, if he thought about it, what starving college student would refuse for their future boss to cover their meal? She was most likely afraid she'd offend him and not get the job. Ariadne _did _seem uncomfortable with the concept. Like she was trying to be gracious but felt guilty. Or did Ariadne just seem uncomfortable with _him_? Overthinking and fretting too hard for his own good, Arthur ordered his meal and they found a table by the windows to place their numbers. Set down their drinks. While the girl was hanging her bag off the back of her chair, Arthur pulled a notepad and pencil out of his briefcase. When her head turned to face him again, the objects were lying in front of her on the table.

One of her eyebrows raised that infuriatingly sexy way of hers and questioned him.

The Point Man knit his hands together for self-assurance (and self-control) and rested them on the edge of the table, "I need you to design a maze." Ariadne slanted her head, looked at the large square template on the page and crinkled her eyebrows. Confused by the (what seemed) random request. He clarified, "One that takes one minute to build and two minutes to solve."

The pencil twirled in her grasp. Undoubtedly, she was intrigued and amused by the challenge but still wondered what it had to do with the offer. "Is the job you're offering creating mazes for a children's activity book?"

Arthur returned her snarky smile, "I can't disclose that information until I know you're capable."

"Why?" pushed the girl.

He leaned forward and whispered, "Because it's not—strictly speaking—legal," then he turned his head as if to egg her on.

She pondered that. Then sat up straighter, tucked hair behind her ear and pulled the notebook closer to her. She didn't begin drawing until he lifted his watch and gave her a nod to proceed. The adrenaline rush was awesome. Her mind and eyes raced to turn lines into a trap and then—"Time." Crud…Ariadne slid it across the table. Mr. Nolan was able to master it within thirty seconds. The girl noticed a peculiar despondency when he'd been able to best her. He drew another square and handed it back, "Again." With a deep breath and his signal, she tried a second and third "Time." It took him longer each round but he still was able to find his way through it with (insufficient) ease.

Arthur couldn't believe this. How could this girl not even draw up a maze in the time required? It was nothing like what dream Ariadne could do; she was a genius. So very disappointed, he pinched the bridge of his nose, "I know you can do better than that."

Ariadne death-glared at him and snatched the book from his grasp. A hasty circle was traced onto the page before she looked at him both expectantly and irritatedly, demanding: "Clock me." Arthur watched, entranced, while she chewed her lip and the pencil flew across the page. He glanced down at his watch. Ten seconds left…but the maze was shoved in front of him completed. A rueful, devious smirk crept across her face when his brows furrowed and the pencil waved from line to line, opening to opening, without any clue where to go. "Well, that's more like it." He breathed a sigh relief (relief? That was odd) and their food was brought out. The girl shrugged, self-satisfied and happily cutting her sandwich in half, "I don't have the name I have for nothing."  
xxxxxx

The tiny Parisian chewed on the last of her sandwich. The rest of her food had been demolished and the plates were stacked at the side of the table to be picked up. Arthur's veal was pushed aside minutes earlier upon his finish. "So, why did you make me do that? What exactly was I auditioning for?"

The past hour was the most complete and comforting hour he'd experienced since he woke up on Miles' couch. The plans of the universe were justified again, so long as she looked at him and talked to him. It was far more rewarding than ogling her from behind bushes and catching glances at the bakery. Maybe she wasn't exactly his dream Ariadne but the reality was that she was enough of her to have Arthur intoxicated by her presence. And if he happened to fall for whoever she turned out to be and she happened to feel the same, he could forget about the two years in the dream. Maybe this Ariadne was better. Of course she was. This one was real. "The field of Dream Extraction."

"Dream _what_?" her chin dropped.

It wasn't ringing a bell for her…Arthur noted. "Dream Extraction," reiterated, "It's where we use the process of shared dreaming to steal secrets for clients."

Her head shook, "Like hypnosis, like reading their minds?"

"In a way…We gather information from their subconscious."

Ariadne's lip caught between her teeth again, "I don't understand what that has to do with Architecture." They stopped the discussion when the waitress came by to collect their plates. Grinned at her thankfully and asked for refills.

Arthur nodded, understanding. "I'll explain it in the way Dom and Miles did for me," They both leaned into the middle of the table to look at the notebook again. He flipped the page over and drew two arrows that created a circle together. "In dreams, our minds 'create' and 'perceive' (he wrote the words by each half of the circle) simultaneously." Their gazes cut up to each other's, "And they do it so well that we don't even know it's happening." Forcing himself to tear away from her intent stare, he drew a line straight through the circle in between the points of the arrows, "Shared dreaming allows us to get right in the middle of that process and have complete control."

"How?" Here she was. The woman hungry for knowledge. The way she soaked up information like a sponge was always impressive to him.

"By taking the creative part into our own hands. _That's_ where the Architect comes in. They create the world of the dream."

Mouth agape, she stuttered, "The _world _of the dream?"

"Precisely," nodded the man. The light in her eyes was contagious. He could feel the interest, the inquisitiveness, the excitement.

"But it would be impossible to acquire enough detail…one building alone has so many aspects to it, much less an entire landscape or _world. _How would I be able to make it seem real? That doesn't sound possible." He had her hooked. If this was the way to get to that familiar look in her eyes trained on him than he would do nothing but answer questions (and ask them to pique concern).

Arthur shook his head, "It's never about the actual surroundings. It's about the feel. Because think about it," she took a swig of her (barely touched) soda and inclined her head towards his. "It doesn't really matter when things don't add up because dreams feel real while we're in them." She nodded, then leant against the back of her chair, "Wow…this is not what I was expecting."

He took a gulp of his drink, "Are you interested?"

Ariadne's eyes lit up like the fourth of July, "Yes. It's fascinating. I just have so many questions about how it works and…" she trailed off, getting overwhelmed by the flood of thoughts in her mind.

"Well, we would have to have a few lessons in the basics of shared dreaming before you began work. So you understand the scope and mechanics of it all. Certain aspects like projections, kicks, paradoxes and the like." A planner emerged from his jacket pocket, "It's roughly a two month operation at this point. We would begin at the start of next week. It will require copious amounts of time in the warehouse."

Ariadne's head bobbed (attempting and half-failing at hiding the excitement). Thinking. Thinking. Thinking. Arthur could see the wheels in her head smoking from the overdrive. "Mr. Nolan?"

The Point Man absolutely despised how she addressed him so professionally. (A thing old Arthur—real Arthur—the Arthur he was around anyone else would be pleased with.) Then it dawned on him that Miles had never given her his first name. All she knew of him was Mr. Nolan. For all Ariadne was aware, _Nolan _was his first name. Immediately, he requested, "Call me Arthur, please. I'll be your teammate, not your boss."

"Arthur." The Architect seemed to taste it. Then her eyes went downcast and she looked to be in deep thought, like his name resonated with her somewhere. He held his breath as her eyes shot up, "Like King Arthur? And the knights of the round table?"

"Yes and no." He masked the disappointment. "My mother was a fan of the legend but it was my grandfather's name." He'd told her this before. He knew he had. She didn't seem to recognize the fact, merely seemed to think it was neat. Then offered information about the origin of her name he already (thought he) knew, "My parents were professors. Literature and Philosophy." Arthur smiled amiably. "My dad actually studied abroad on a little island in Greece. Mythology was one of his required electives and the labyrinth was his favorite story. He vowed to have a daughter named Ariadne or a son named Theseus thus…me."

Arthur shouldn't have but he had to question it since the story fit, "Would that be Kastelorizo Island?"

She gawped, jaw wide open. That wasn't a widely known location. "Yes. How did you know?"

"Guessed. I have a _villa_ there so I took a stab."

"You have a villa there? Jealous. I've always wanted to visit..." Ariadne laughed, "it is such a small world. Anyway," the woman rerouted, "I don't mean to sound indelicate but…the internship will allow for me to keep my job as Miles' TA right? Because I've got student loans and a rental and phone payments and I can't really afford to drop everything to draw and sleep all day. As much as I want to."

Arthur chuckled. Actually, she would be able to afford it. "You will be paid for your time, Ariadne. Handsomely."

She blushed, abashed, "I didn't mean—"

"To the tune of five-hundred grand." He snickered again after her eyes went wide and her hand went to her chest. "And if you'll accept, I'd be happy to offer you my share as well."

Shell shocked. Ariadne tripped over her words, "I—I couldn't—that—"

"I've done plenty of these jobs. I don't need the money. I need a fantastic Architect." His eyes softened but she hadn't caught the double meaning in, "I need _you_."

Blinking, the girl scanned the other faces in the café wondering if anyone else's world had been so violently rocked in the past hour as hers. The Point Man continued to make his case, "Take your time to think over it. After all, it _is _illegal and I promised Stephen I wouldn't coerce you." A small card slipped into her hand, "I need an answer by Sunday." When he stood, she took it as her cue to stand as well and partake in another handshake. This guy really liked to shake hands often. She was still shaken and flabbergasted but bid him adieu and went back to the University for her next lecture.

Arthur's phone became his best friend.  
xxxxxx

Three days. It was Friday and she hadn't replied yet. Hadn't even called for further questioning. Arthur laid off the surveillance since their lunch but decided he would check up on her that afternoon and so found himself in his car staring at her corner windows.

Ariadne came from school in a rush and took a shower hurriedly. Spent a good hour or so in her bedroom leaving Arthur to stare at a dark and empty kitchen for a spell. When the girl appeared in front of the kitchen window again, she looked stunning. Her hair was perfectly coiled, he could see dark red color on her lips suggesting she had put on heavier makeup, a lovely peach tank dress (from what he could see) and some sort of layered jewelry where her scarf should've been. Was she going out with friends? It was plausible, it was a Friday night. Then a suspicious (not really) young man traipsed up to the steps of the building on his cell phone. (Wait, she was on the phone as well…) Dressed almost as nicely as her: in a three piece black suit, a black and gray dotted dress shirt and deep red, satin bowtie. Arthur watched in horror as Ariadne bounded out the front of the building with heels on her feet and a clutch in her hand. She hugged the blonde guy…and his hand touch her bare back…(there was a low v'ed back to make up for the coverage in the front). Surely, she wasn't going on a date. Arthur made sure to research if she had a boyfriend. Was that Tyler?

It's needless to say that he followed them to their destination. It turned out to be (strangely and thankfully) the building of an Architecture Firm a good train ride from the heart of the city. Jealousy bit Arthur in tidal waves when Ariadne adjusted Tyler's bowtie like he could still (when he laid in bed at night) feel her adjust his before work. A fancily clad older woman answered the door, glass of champagne in hand and ushered them in enthusiastically.

Arthur waited a beat and crashed this party himself. It was a company mixer, everyone dressed to the nines, networking and fake smiling. He recognized the host. A Mr. Claude Prouvaire, old time friend of Miles and co-director/CEO of the firm. He'd met him a few times. The Point Man strolled the party, careful not to draw attention lest he run into Ariadne and startle her. Though, he had a backstory he could use to make running into her there seem probable. After tasting one of the quiches he finally spotted the small woman and her date. The two were pulled aside by Claude. Arthur quickly and inconspicuously made his way closer, grabbed a glass of wine and leant against a wall, pretending to engage in conversation with a tall and slender red head. In actuality, his ears were trained around the corner at the three's conversation.

"Fabulous," the thick French accent of Mr. Prouvaire spoke in English, "You must be Ariadne and Tyler, Stephen told me to look for you two. Promised he would send his most prized students."

"It's an honor, Monsieur," sounded the voice of her date. Or maybe he was just a friend and fellow protégé now that Arthur had heard them talk. His voice was very deep but boyishly raspy.

"So…we have five openings for the internship this summer. An eight month process starting Monday." Arthur gritted. That would not do with the time they would need her to put into the models.

At last, Ariadne's voice chimed a question, "_Monday_?" Yes, it was striking a chord. She needed an answer for Arthur and Dreamers by then. That's when that impossibly interesting job started. "What would be the work schedule?"

There was a slurp of alcohol before, "It varies. Someone of your recommendations I would assume would be used a lot. It could be every Monday, Wednesday, Friday and Saturday from 6am to 9pm. Or it could be some sporadic Tuesdays and Thursdays but after speaking with Miles, I would give you two more than that."

"Oh." Was her only response. Not negative. Not positive. Just oh. That didn't leave time at all for the Extraction…

Claude ensured the two, "You would be compensated for all that time of course. Eleven euros an hour plus any field work in which transportation would also be covered. Plus the perks of referrals, the additions to your portfolios and we would try to get you at the right hand of some Contractors—give you some connections."

Arthur knew the deep breath out was hers. It was too good an offer to pass up if she wanted to further her career and set herself up for work after graduation. The Point Man downed the rest of the glass as Claude wrapped up his proposal, "Like I said there are five positions open and we're interviewing some people tonight but I trust Miles so if either of you want a position, it is yours. Take your time in mulling it over, I'll need to know by Sunday. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must play host some more but we'll talk and get to know one another later, hmm?"

"Yes Sir, thank you so much." The smile with her words was clearly heard. As well as her date's, "Thank you, Monsieur Prouvaire."

"Thank your Professor. He's praised you to high heaven."

Arthur stalked outside and dialed up Stephen on his way back to his hotel. The Professor had purposefully found an offer that his protégé couldn't (probably wouldn't) refuse and all to thwart Arthur's plans of getting to know her.

That didn't sound as silly and superficially selfish in Arthur's head.  
xxxxxx

Two rings then a tired voice, "Yes?"

"No disrespect, sir," the intonation of Arthur's voice sounded otherwise, "but you're running interference and I don't think it's fair."

The receiver picked up static before Miles replied, "I'm not sure what you're accusing me of."

The Point Man readied to keep himself in check and not sound biting, "Shortly after _my _proposal, Ariadne is offered an unbeatable internship—one that will occupy her for a span of eight months—by _your_ old business partner…" He couldn't help but let some anger slip with his last chide, "You want to tell me you had no hand in arranging that?"

Wasting no time, Miles scoffed, "Of course I had a hand in it." He couldn't see the younger man but his lips formed a thin line. "An opportunity arose to get her foot in the door of the occupation she plans to pursue…what kind of mentor would I be if I denied her that because some dream criminal has developed an obsession over her?" The other side of the phone had nothing to say to that. When it was put that way, it was logical. Arthur had to digress. Wise, old, Professor Stephen Miles was right again. Feeling bad for the 'criminal' and 'obsession' word choices (however true), Miles softened and refilled the airwaves, "She understands what both parties are offering. Let Ariadne make the choice, Arthur. It's only fair. Whichever she chooses I will support her and if you claim to care for the girl, than you should too."

Arthur wasn't sure what the proper response or salutation would be at that point so he hung up.  
xxxxxx

Two rings then a tired voice, "Hello?" It was eleven o'clock, she should be home now. The only sounds in the background were faint voices talking about the new and improved magic bullet. '_Just call 1-800-' _There was no din of middle-aged bourgeoisies, elevator music and tinkling glasses so it was safe to say she was back in her flat. "Hello, This is Arthur Nolan…we had lunch together a few days ago?"

"Oh! Yeah, yeah…I thought I had until Sunday to give you an answer?"

Was he really doing this? "Yes but with you having to get to class some crucial aspects slipped my mind." Ariadne's startled 'oh?' made him explain speedily, "It's protocol to have the potential hire trial a dream first. Some can design mazes but then have difficulty manipulating dreamscapes. Also dreams can become overwhelming and dangerous-seeming environments. You should know what you're getting into before you make a decision." If she was anything like his dream Ariadne (which in a lot of cases she was) she wouldn't be able to say no after bending worlds and feeling like a goddess. To invite her into that world before she made a definite decision was to make the decision for her. He suspected she would get hooked on pure creation and Arthur selfishly acted to start the addiction. What was he doing? His hands rubbed his jaw and he paced to look out the window. Gain some sense.

He expected more questions because that was her nature but she complied, "Ok. I'm free tomorrow any time before four. Where are we meeting?"

Was it wrong to have a flutter in his chest at the prospect of seeing her again? _YES. Yes, Arthur. You shouldn't be doing this._ _You should reject these ideas. You should leave her out of your mess._ It didn't show in the mechanical lilt, "The actual labor during the job will take place in a warehouse but if you feel uncomfortable meeting with me in such a place than—"

"No, I trust you." It was firm. A fact. It knocked Arthur off his socks and dared him to hope until, "Because Miles trusts you and I trust Miles." Stephen's trust in Arthur may have waned since the Professor last spoke of him to Ariadne but he wasn't going to mention that. "What's the address?" Arthur stated the pre-memorized location of the building he'd rented and they settled on convening there at one. After he said goodbye, he loosened his tie and plopped onto the edge of the bed. Kicked his shoes off.

What did he just do? 

_Don't you remember? Don't you remember  
the reason you loved me before?  
Baby, please remember me once more._

Xxxxxx

Hmmm…Papa Miles is getting more and more worried/agitated/protective, yeah? Who thinks he'll be pissed when he hears about this impromptu dream field trip? Thoughts on Ari so far? What do you think her reaction would be should she ever find out he's been more or less stalking her? And do we think Arthur could get any crazier?


	4. Again Today

**Thanksies! **_Lauraa-x: _aww because you ship them. Duh. I think anyone would be creeped out. Tyler's just a friend. Not saying that couldn't change but for now its platonic. Just wanted to worry Arthur for a hot second. Yeah, you're right. I think Miles and Arthur's relationship will slowly go down the tubes. And because of that perhaps Dom and Arthur's. They're both really worried about him but angry at him for pursuing it. Thanks for weighing in! _The Pink Archer: _Sweet, thanks! I'm trying to do an even blend. Lol. _Neverlandspirit: _Yay! Glad I've got someone hooked! Only three chapters in and Arthur's toeing the line of crazy. Can't wait til you guys get further into this with me and the characters. There's a little flashback fluff in this chappie for ya! _Guest: _Thanks so much =) _whatshername76: _We'll see…it's going to be a messed up, difficult situation, I think. But its Arthur and Ari…so…and I think his stalkiness will reduce. Now that he gets to spend time with her one on one, he doesn't have to scrounge and sneak around to get his fix of Ariadne so no more window watching. (Thank God.)

Thank you for favoriting and/or following: _whatshername76, MinnieMouse33 _and _Midnight the Black Fox._

**Chapter 4: Again Today**

_Because I'm your hero and your my weakness  
Who's gonna break my fall when the spin starts  
The colors bleed together and fade  
Was it ever there at all?  
_—Brandi Carlile

"Sort of like a clock, correct," said Arthur with fingers hovering over the buttons on either side of the clock. "Left to bring the time up, right to bring the time down, both to set it." Ariadne nodded by his shoulder. The contraption's functions (to put people to sleep and bring them into the same subconscious space) still seemed far-fetched to Ariadne having not seen it work with her own eyes. But it was still fascinating…like a gadget for international spy incorporations. Like she'd stepped into a James Bond movie. Especially so with Arthur standing there: crisp suit, gelled hair, smelling of cologne and something spicy like cinnamon with an expression of concentration and—what was the word? Aplomb. He was fluent in the language of dream share and his fancy way of speaking was so dignified that every time he spoke, the rest of the world hushed and she was glued to his enthralling knowledge of the business. Then again, the world was already hushed. The warehouse drowned out all city noise to a point of deafening silence besides their voices and the hum of the device. (But Ariadne was a fan of romanticizing things so she'd stick with her version.) "Would you like to set it for one minute?"

"_One_ minute?" said the Architect while stepping up to the plate (literally) and as he stepped to the side. She'd trust him because he was the expert but, "It's _that_ easy that you can explain it all that quick?"

Arthur shook his head, "One minute translates to twelve minutes in the dream. When you're under the time is compounded. We're just getting a quick look at a shared dream first." Just like that it was set with a shrug of her shoulders, "Oh, I guess that makes sense." Ever the gentleman, Arthur moved the PASIV to a small table between to lawn chairs and angled hers closer so she wouldn't have to walk so far. (In this case he saved her what? One of three steps?) The woman situated herself comfortably as Arthur uncoiled the tubes and handed her an alcohol pad, "Wipe down the area you'll be inserting the cannula. So," the slight outstretch of his hand and questioning eyes asked for her permission to touch.

Eager to get on with the lesson and see the phenomenon for herself, she placed her forearm in his hands. Arthur pulled her hand back to stretch the skin of her wrist and reveal the outline of her veins. He spotted the two near the middle easily and ran his thumb between them down the length they showed, "either of these veins here will be the easiest."

"_You have so many little welts." They sit together in the bathtub, Ariadne's back against his chest. It was a particularly grueling day including extraction gone awry, quick getaways, a shoot off, a last minute flight out of the country and bunkering down in this hotel room. Neither of them received any more than an odd bruise here and there and the cut on Arthur's cheek where the skin had split from a punch. Definitely not the worst injuries they've had. But the thought of being chased and the instinct to protect Ariadne makes Arthur insistent on being with her every moment until he's sure the threat is gone. Ariadne doesn't mind this time, she tells him he's comfy. His lips rest on her shoulder less than they kiss it while he studies her wrist, "Why don't you put the needle in the same spot every time?" he asks and his lips go right back to their spot. _

"_Because it hurts worse than putting it somewhere else." Her toes point so she can graze his inner ankle with them._

_Arthur teases, "You said you can barely feel it." _

_She sighs and the truth comes out, "I was trying to see if I could make an 'A'." _

_The Point Man can't control his laugh. It reverberates off the tile walls and fake porcelain tub. It makes her body bounce off of his. "Only you." He only makes an effort to quiet when she hits his face with the loofa. He bites the inside of his cheeks though she can still feel him chuckling so he's not fooling anyone. He kisses her wrist and asks jokingly, "'A' as in the initial of the man you love most in the world?" _

_Ariadne scoffs, "Eames doesn't start with an 'A'." _

_Arthur pinches her sides, "That's not funny," but the eruption of her laughter and the frantic splashes as he tickles her make it seem otherwise. _

It wasn't until Ariadne cleared her throat, face slightly pink, that Arthur realized he'd been rubbing reverent circles on her wrist for however long he'd been daydreaming. She looked a little stunned. A little weirded out. Arthur pulled back like lightning, "I'm sorry. My mind wandered off and I didn't realize—" Already, he was wiping off his forearm and inserting his lead to avoid her stare.

"It's all good. I space out a lot too." Arthur peeked up at her and noticed she was working hard to avoid his stare as well. It didn't take _that _much hardcore concentration to uncoil the tubing. She winced when the needle went in but there was no more fuss than that. By the time he asked if she was ready the awkward moment had rolled off her shoulders. So he pressed the button and they took a plunge.

Xxxxxxx

Ariadne sat on a bench in the park behind the Eiffel, drawing some sketch due for her three thirty class on Monday. "Is this seat taken?" Mr. Nolan appeared next to the bench and gracefully planted himself beside her. Oh yeah, was she supposed to meet him here? They were supposed to trial a dream before she made her decision.

"Hi," she quickly packed her notebook and pencils away in her messenger. "Sorry, I got carried away with homework." In the back of her mind she remembered they agreed to meet up at some warehouse. It definitely slipped her mind. How unprofessional and embarrassing that Arthur had to come hunt her down.

Arthur was smiling peculiarly at her, "No worries." He knew something she didn't and apparently it was incredibly amusing. Was he making fun of her for getting swept up in drawing? To make him stop taunting her with his eyes, she urged, "I'm ready to start when you are."

And his eyebrows lifted in an infuriatingly playful way, "We've already started." Ariadne glared at him suspiciously to which his response was the spry question: "How long have you been doing homework?"

The Architect's eyes fell downcast. Her mouth opened once, twice. She checked her watch. "A long time…? So long I don't really remember—"

"What were you doing before this? Before the park?"

"I was—" Why on earth couldn't she remember anything before that sketch in her book? Where had she been? What all had she done that day? Got up, did some laundry, visited the bakery, met Mr. Nolan at the—wait a second. "We were—" Ariadne remembered blocky red letters and a silver suitcase filled with vials of clear fluid. There was a faint sting in her left wrist. Ariadne lifted it to find it bare but she could've sworn she pricked it sometime recent. She glanced up at the sky then at Arthur, "We're dreaming, aren't we?"

"Good girl," he commented. Proud. "Want to explore?"

They strolled in the park. Arthur was very patient with the novice. He let her take things in at her own speed, let her stop and analyze flowers or feel the grass, or stare at the tower in the background with scrutiny. "I was wrong about detail."

Arthur fiddled with the color of green in the leaves of the tree above them, "How so?"

"I thought it wouldn't feel real without an abundance of it. But it really isn't about detail; it's about how the dream feels. And," she took a deep breath of the crisp air and watched a jogger and his dog breeze past, some tourists snapping pictures in the distance, "It feels like home. Like Paris."

The timer woke them and Arthur offered to let Ariadne be the dreamer. To let her feel the power of creation. They spent a total of ten minutes real-time hooked to the PASIV. Just like _his _Ariadne, she was a natural. She caught onto the dynamics of it all without trouble. And she built and bent and shaped the dreamscapes to her will with raises of her brows and twitches of her fingers. She was every bit a genius; like Einstein, Monet, Picasso, Mozart, all the greats. To watch her dream was to witness miracles. Arthur often found himself slack jawed by her talent and found his sense of reality rocked by how unearthly her resemblance to the dream girl was. The more enthralled she became, the more regret Arthur felt from basically forcing her into it. What was he doing? He was interfering in her decision just as Miles and Claude had. He wanted to take her into this dream before she came to a verdict because if she was anything like his projection of her, once he wet her appetite with pure creation, she wouldn't be able to say no. Easy.

It was easy to spiral into self-hatred again as he strolled alongside Ariadne, witnessing her brilliance. It was easy to be repulsed by the way he was acting. He hated Saito and his men for making him this way. For making him crazed about a plain student from Paris. A no-nothing little girl who strutted around, drawing skyscrapers and consuming too much bread for her metabolism to be able to burn off. He'd been wondering why. Searching for answers about why this meant so much to him…and realized that it was their doing. It wasn't a side effect of being lost. It was the reason they got him lost. Arthur could handle torture; he was mentally sound, he'd been put through anything and everything. He was untouchable because he cared for no one. So Saito went in and took that away from him as a form of vengeance. No longer was he the evading, sharp as a tack, work-centered, Point Man because all he had was put into the mystery of this freakin' architect. Arthur was making a fool of himself in front of all his colleagues and former mentor…what would Cobb say when he walked into the warehouse Monday morning and saw Ariadne there ready to begin her training? He signed his Extractor on without telling him who else he had in mind for the team. Deep down he knew his friend would reprimand him and talk him out of approaching Ariadne…so he didn't run any ideas by him.

Ariadne woke with a spark in her eyes and fire in her belly. The girl loved it. Relished it. Reveled in it. If not for having to meet up with her friend Clarisse for her birthday dinner, she would've done it all night. She thanked Mr. Nolan (with another handshake) for the opportunity and left entranced. The Point Man should've been thrilled that it had the effect he predicted. That his chances of Ariadne taking this job went up about eighty percent.

He surprisingly wasn't.  
xxxxxx

Three pounds sounded on his door. After looking through the peephole first, the door opened with its occupant looking tired and bored. Arthur was in the middle of ordering room service and had to rush through the phone call to answer. His irritancy was rectified when Cobb hissed, "What the hell do you think you're doing?" Arthur looked down at himself, puzzled. The blonde pushed his way into the room and slammed the door, "You're dragging that innocent girl into Dreamshare just to fulfill some fantasy of yours?" The older man out of the two must've been updated by Stephen. (He was. Ariadne enthusiastically called Miles on the way home and divulged the entire experience to him. Upset and not knowing how else to approach Arthur, Stephen called Dom and asked him to try talking sense into the boy. To add insult to injury, this was how Cobb was informed of Arthur's proposal to sign her on.)

"It's not what you think. It's deeper than that," the Point's head shook.

"Oh…" Dominic mocked him haughtily, "'It's not what I think'. 'It's_ deeper_ than that'. Yeah that justifies it."

Arthur glared, "Don't patronize me."

Cobb launched straight into attack mode. He was sick of Arthur's fixation on this and damn well terrified that his best friend was losing his mind. He got louder with every sentence, "You fell in love with your _projection _of her! You need to get a grip, Art. You wonder why you can't get that relationship out of your head?! It's because that's what it was: In your head!"

"What, like Mal is in _your_ head?" the taller one bit back.

Solemnly, Arthur was warned with a pointed index finger and some murderous eyes, "Don't bring her into this."

"Isn't it the same thing? Every time we dream, _every_ time, she pops up and sabotages us. And you won't kill her. You can't solve the problem because you're in love with your _projection _of her. You think she's really there even though you know that's impossible. You talk about _me_ needing to get a grip?" Arthur seethed, "Wake up, Dom! She's dead!"

A swift shove knocked Arthur into the desk and knocked the lamp off, "You son of a bitch!" Dom yelled, "At least she existed!"

The Point Man sloppily stood up and pushed Dom back, "Yeah? So does Ariadne…"

Dom grunted gutturally. It wasn't the same. Couldn't ever be the same. "Don't compare your sham of a relationship to ours. It will never add up. You're not capable of adoring someone as much as I adored my wife."

_Arthur lays a cool wet rag on Ariadne's forehead and comfortingly caresses her jawline with his fingers. His thigh muscles burn and his knees have indentions in them from kneeling on the threads of the rug. He could climb into bed next to her but her muscles ache too much to reach over to the bedside table and grab a tissue when she sneezes so he stays there and hands them to her dutifully. "I don't feel good…" she whines. Ariadne reverts back to her eight year old self when she's sick. She wants to cuddle with pillows, eat grilled cheese and talk to her mom—whom Arthur calls and puts on the phone with her on the rough days to make her feel a teeny bit better. _

"_I know, Baby. Try to go to sleep." Arthur dabs her temples and wipes off her sweaty neck with the rag then puts it back on her forehead. "I'll be right here if you need anything."_

_Ari let her droopy eyes close all the way and snuggled her chin beneath the covers, "I love you." Those were the best thank you's._

The memory of his devotion makes Arthur both sick at the loss and angry at Dom, "You don't know that. You don't know what we shared. How much I cared for her, how much she loved me."

The Extractor's fingers pulled at his greasy hair. Arthur was so stubborn! "Ariadne. Doesn't. Love. You. Technically, she _never did. _And she never will. She doesn't remember you because none of that ever happened! She doesn't know you. You're a complete stranger! And you don't know _her._ She's not the perfect pretty little picture you painted of her in your mind."

The Point Man brooded silently. The lone sign he was upset was when he took off his suit jacket, balled it up and threw in in the corner on the floor. Those allegations clearly stung. Dominic could attempt to sympathize. Every time he visited the memories of Mal locked up in subconscious and then woke to the reality of her absence a little more of him died. Cobb sighed, "I'm sorry, Art. I wish it wasn't the truth. Miles has lost enough of us to this world, don't make him two more. Leave the poor girl alone and come all the way back to reality."

Defeated, Arthur plunked back down on the mattress and rubbed his temples, "I wish I could. I can't." Cobb huffed exasperatedly but said nothing while he took a seat next him. Arthur looked at him and when he did the young man seemed years older, weathered. The stress of the weight on his mind had taken its toll. All thoughts he'd previously pondered—about this being a clever and elaborate plan of Saito's—they were erased. "I'm meant to be with her." If he noticed Dom's eye roll and lick of lips, he didn't acknowledge it, "I know it sounds stupid to you…sometimes it sounds stupid to _me_. But think about it—why? Out of the millions of women I've met, passed by or glanced at, _why_ did my subconscious choose _Ariadne_?"

"It was random," emphasized Dom.

"I don't think it was. No woman has been able to hook me like she has. When I saw her for that split-second at Stephen's maybe my subconscious knew she was the one. Maybe it made me care for her in the dream so that I would have to find and care for her in reality."

His best friend scoffed, "Look at that, two years in limbo and you emerge a sappy poet."

"It's what that woman does to me."

Dom could tell Arthur was captivated by the notion. He could tell by his fervor and passionate form of speech that he truly believed all this. He tried to intervene, "Arth—"

"Look." His hands flew up and collapsed back on his lap, "I could care less if she's not _that _Ariadne. Who she is _here _is enough. I—" Shaking his head, he got up and began to pace. The strange emotion he was feeling (no, it wasn't strange. He remembered her doing this to him in the dream too) rendered him restless. "I honestly feel like I've been asleep my entire life, Cobb. When I saw her again, when we walked together in the dream she created earlier, it was like…It was like I woke up. I felt more jolted awake than I ever have from a kick. Ariadne's smirk can keep me grounded better than any totem can." Arthur pivoted to judge the Extractor's reaction. As expected, he was dumbfounded. All his worry lines creased. The Point asked, "Don't you think this scares me shitless, too? When have you ever known me to be so dependent on someone? I can't help but need her."

His friend was more compassionate to him now but still firm in his own beliefs, "You can't pursue this, Arthur. Maybe you've decided it's fine to be a lost cause but the dream world will ruin her. You will destroy her. If you _really_ feel that deeply about Ariadne…I know you won't be selfish enough to put your happiness before her safety and sanity."

Ashamedly, Arthur looked down at his feet and gritted, "I will let her make her own choices."

"If she chooses this job that doesn't mean she's choosing _you_. If she signs on, don't force your affections on her. Don't do to her what I did to Mal."  
xxxxxx

Sunday. 11:54 pm.

Ariadne had made no form of contact.

The part of Arthur that still thought logically determined it was for the best. The last point Cobb made about turning her into Mal: That horrified him. Was he turning into his best friend? Because that was something he swore he would never do back in the dream. Cobb—well he didn't know the full story about what happened to Cobb's late wife—but he knew that they had been experimenting heavily. That often Cobb would coerce her into dreams and travel levels down at a time. Just to see how far they could push themselves. What limits they could break. They wanted to be known as pioneers of the dreamshare world. To discover something yet discovered. To invent new methods, contribute new knowledge. Well, Cobb wanted it more so...Mal was simply curious and trusted him so she allowed him to take her hand, drag her down and bend her mind.

Was that what Arthur was doing? Was he snatching up Ariadne's hand, forcing her into the dreams and subjecting her to the insanity that could ensue from it all? No…because Ariadne would not follow him blindly like that. As Dom had pointed out, the real human being didn't love him as Mal had loved the Extractor. She would have questions. She wouldn't take the phrase 'because we'll be together' as any form of comfort. It didn't matter. Obviously, the day was considered over and she had not—

"Nolan," Arthur slid his thumb across the screen of his phone and greeted with his last name. Well…the one he was using.

"Hi…" it was her but he didn't get his hopes up because she sounded hesitant already. Like she was afraid to turn him down. "This is Ariadne…"

With unfaltering professionalism, "Ah. Yes, I've been expecting your call."

"I know…I apologize for waiting so late but…" Here it was. The rejection: "I _really _want to do it."

The phone pressed harder to his ear and he stood to look out his window, "What?"

"You sound surprised…" the girl snickered, "Was the dream supposed to scare me off or something?" Arthur made to comment but she intervened too quickly, "Because it didn't. It actually made me more eager."

His eyes squinted. He should be ecstatic about this. Guess the guilt wouldn't let him be. Cobb was going to kill him if Miles didn't get to him first. Maybe he could talk her down from it, "Are you positive?"

"Yes. I tried not to call but…Yes. I'm in."

"A hundred percent? You know the risks and you're still willing to go through with this?" What was he thinking earlier? He couldn't lose Ariadne a second time. He couldn't recreate a dream. He couldn't make her love him if she didn't.

"Yes." She started, paused, then started again, "Do you not want me to take the job now?"

"No, that is not the case." Arthur never wanted her to believe he didn't want her company. Or didn't believe she was good enough so he explained, "I'm just taken aback by your choice. I heard about the offer from Mr. Prouvaire. It's a far better career move. I'm just curious why you would choose this instead."

Ariadne stated it like it was the most common known fact in the world. Arthur had to roll his die when she declared, "Because there's nothing quite like it. Because it's pure creation." Images flashed like a continuous loop: _Pulling a needle from her wrist. Talking about totems and weights and 'Like a coin?' 'No.' Yelling, furious sarcasm and 'I'm not about to just open my mind to someone like that,' her red jacket smacking him in the face, her back retreating. Loading the PASIV and the clear of her throat. Her coy smile, 'I tried not to come but…' 'There's nothing quite like it.' 'It's just…pure creation.' Already, little vines of hers beginning to coil around his feet and threatening to possess him. _Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and tried to blink the dream from his eyelids. The continuance of her answer helped to ground him in the present, "I just…Ever since you took me into the dream, it's all I can think about. I can't imagine not doing it."

'_She'll be back. Reality won't be enough for her anymore.' _ Arthur's head swam. _'Cobb, what's going on with Mal?' 'I don't know. Reality isn't enough for her. She keeps saying she needs to wake up.' _ What had he done to Ariadne? He'd set her up for becoming a shade. She was as good as dead, wasn't she? His selfishness and profession of love had killed her. Didn't he say he would let her make her own decisions…? Well, she had decided. Right? Who was he to snatch it away? Again, Ariadne's voice cut through his inner argument, "What time are we meeting at the warehouse?"

"Ariadne… Are you _sure_?" It was too late to backpedal several days' worth but he tried anyway. He never should've approached Miles.

With fervor in each statement, she declared, "I'm positive. I want to be involved. I want to learn. I want to be part of your team."

This was another one of those countless times where dream Arthur and reality Arthur butted heads. Where heart-driven Arthur and headspace Arthur battled it out. When he couldn't choose whether to listen to the boyfriend in him or the Point Man in him. The Point Man of reality shouldn't have cared either way. The one hopelessly enamored with the Architect…he couldn't say no when she wanted something (even when she didn't ask). "We're convening at nine." Ultimately, he was the one that won over.

Ariadne expressed herself with an overwhelming volume of gratitude, "Ok! Thank you so much for the opportunity, Mr. Nolan."

He gritted, angry at himself, and yanked the curtains of his window closed, "_Arthur_. I've told you to call me Arthur."

"Yes sir, I'm sorry." Arthur sighed hopelessly in between that and: "Bye _Arthur_, see you in the morning."

_And have I lost my way?  
The path of least resistance is  
catching up with me again today._

xxxxxxx 

Sheeeeesh. Now they're going to start spending a lot of time together, aren't they? Expectations? I've got some fun stuff planned.


	5. I Walk the Line

_Neverlandspirit: _Thank you much! I try to have a lot of raw emotions and not make it _too _cheesy…hehe. _Lauraa-x: _Oh but you know me…no smooth rides. Ever. Thanks for reviewing! _Amelia-Rose: _Hey you! =) thanks, glad you like it. _shembre: _Yeah…he's acting different this time around. Not sure if that'll effect if Ariadne will fall for him this time or not. No. I think Ariadne will be pretty pissed about the stalking should she ever find out.

Favorites and Follows get cupcakes! _Shembre _times two, _FireDraken _times twoand_ carallana! _(you get ice cream)

Ya'll I think Ari is too intuitive for her own good. This could go downhill fast.

**Chapter 5: I Walk the Line**

_I find it very, very easy to be true.  
I find myself alone when each day's through.  
Yes, I'll admit that I'm a fool for you.  
_—Johnny Cash

Ariadne walked into the warehouse briskly and spritely at 8:55 am the next morning. Mornings didn't seem to be a problem when she was excited about something. The rest of the team was already there. Arthur and a red headed man in a doctor's coat stood in the middle of the warehouse by a whiteboard engaged in discussion. Arthur 's bladed hand made a motion similar to chopping and the other man's were tucked respectfully in his pockets. There was an African man dressed in dark jeans, a polo and a leather jacket (older than Ariadne but had to be younger than Arthur) who stood in the back corner pressing a finger to his ear and straining to carry a conversation over the phone. And last but not least, a blonde was shuffling papers at his desk when he looked up and saw the young woman traipsing in, a frappe in one hand, a sketchbook in the other. He rounded the corner of his desk and stuck his hand out. She noticed that his face crinkled when he smiled. He had a lot of worry lines permanently written on his forehead and secrets swimming in the icy blue of his eyes, "Hello Ariadne. I don't know if he's spoken of me but I'm Dominic Cobb, Miles'—"

"—Son in law." She nodded. Then, in afterthought, her arm shot out to reciprocate the handshake. "I've heard lots of stories about you." And by heard lots of stories she meant seen lots of old sketches. Miles kept a notebook of Dom's, of his daughter's and now of Ariadne's best work to show off to colleagues. Other than using his name offhandedly in everyday speech when on the phone with his wife or talking about family, Ariadne hadn't heard much about Dom as a person. Mostly as an architect. Otherwise, things were hush hush about him.

Dom's eyes narrowed in a way that made her uneasy. Made the lack of warmhearted tales about the son in law make sense, "Good things I hope…"

"Oh, yes." Ariadne's eyebrows rose and she made sure to nod her head more enthusiastically than before to emphasize the positivity. "All about your glory days at University." That wasn't a lie. Miles told her Dom was best in his class, interned with Prouvaire, tutored (how he met Mal), on the honor society…he also told her he threw it all away and dropped out to fiddle fart through different countries and get in trouble but she didn't have to bring that up.

"Streaking through the campus and filling my car with jello?"

"The _other_ glory days, I think," laughed the girl. "I've—always thought of you as…" She grimaced, "My role model of sorts. I know we've never really met but Professor showed me some of your sketches freshman year and they're incredible." Role model up to the point of dropping out of course. Ariadne admired his designs not life choices. She wouldn't follow in his exact footsteps. She looked up to the excellent student he was before quitting—which she now realized was for dreamshare and… shit. Was she following his exact footsteps? She hadn't even thought about quitting though. She'd worked too hard. She wasn't throwing that away. Plus Miles would shoot her.

Should she have mentioned the whole role model thing? Did it freak him out? Because when she said 'role model' Dominic looked taken aback. He dropped eye contact and sighed. Maybe he was just modest. The blonde's eyes returned with sincere compliments, however, "Miles has praised _your_ talents to me too. He even sent me a picture of your mid-term project…the model of the cathedral turned library?" Ariadne's face lit up with recognition as he spoke, "I was blown away, truly. You supersede me."

It was Ariadne's turn to break the connection and stare at her feet but with added color in her cheeks. She shook her head, genuinely self-criticizing and humble, "Nah…"

"I trust your being cordial…" All of the sudden the Point Man was behind Cobb, his shoulder lined with the Extractor's. His tone was light and conversational, his dark stare was not. Ariadne leaned her head around Cobb to glance at the other occupants of the warehouse while the two men death glared at each other. The ginger was placing some sort of vials (that sleepy medicine stuff probably) in his mini fridge and the black guy hung up and was furiously writing something down. When Cobb and Arthur were found in the same position she left them, she decided to save Dom, "He's being great." Both sets of eyes cut to her. Dominic's gaze was back to warm, polite and inviting; Arthur's was a mixture of curiosity and mild astonishment. "We were actually fan-girling over each other. Talking cathedrals and—"

Cobb deadpanned, "Jello," which made her grin and look down to keep from laughing.

What was that? Arthur nodded once than shifted his focus from his jealousy to the bag on her shoulder, the objects in her hands and her outside jacket still on, "Here, let me show you to your workspace so you can put all that down." He'd hoped Dom would wander off and leave the two of them be but he followed behind like he was chaperoning. First they introduced her to the Forger (the black guy), Jameson and the Chemist (the ginger), Roger. Then, decided to take her down into the dream together for her first lesson about projections and their dangers.  
xxxxxx

The woman built what she knew best: Paris in springtime. Coral, yellow and white flowers emitting perfume into the breeze. Quaint cafes and shoppes on either side of the River Seine. The top of the Eiffel poking into the powder blue sky. Ariadne only had the opportunity to work her magic in the dreams one other time (the dream Arthur took her in) in which he demonstrated his version of the city. Her France was so spot on he caught Cobb gripping his totem while he felt for his own. The girl turned and walked backwards while asking, "All of these people…or my projections, whatever….how come I don't recognize any of them?" Ariadne cast a studious peek at a random woman walking past with bread tucked under her arm.

Dominic ran his hand along the edge of a bench in passing, "You wouldn't. Number one: They're not yours. You're the dreamer. You control the dream, you create it. The people you bring in to share it with: client, mark, what have you, they are the ones that populate it."

"So these are all people that you two know…" childishly she grabbed hold of a lamppost, did a circle around it and then created stairs to go up into another arrondissement.

This time it was Arthur who informed, "Not necessarily. While you _do_ see people that you know in natural dreams, that's highly unusual in lucid ones. Projections are more or less random."

"People you sit by on the bus, pass on the street," Cobb eyed Arthur pointedly while her back was turned and went on, "ones you're briefly acquainted with…your subconscious picks up on them, stores them in your recessive memory bank and then spouts them out in the dream."

"Cool." She strutted her streets like Queen of the Universe (because in this case she was). Ariadne raised passovers and extended bridges, changed and stretched storefronts. In an instant, someone clipped Ariadne's shoulder with theirs. It brought Arthur's attention from the scenery to their task. She was already looking back at him by the time he looked at her, "Your subconscious isn't as polite as you are, Arthur. Might want to have a stern talk with it…"

The Point Man picked up his pace to walk beside the girl, ready to protect if things went awry, "Not my projections."

Cobb called from behind the both of them, "Mine."

She shrugged one shoulder, standing corrected, and then leveled a church and rebuilt it different with two flicks of her wrist. The projections were sensing too many changes too soon and starting to look for the dreamer. Eyes eerily surfaced from everywhere and shot their direction. Suddenly, Ariadne's face twisted peculiarly. Her arms wrapped around herself and slowed to a confused to stop, looking down. Arthur halted but not before looking worried at Cobb, "Everything alright?"

Her head stayed down but her eyes slid up to him, "Yeah," and her arms dropped, "But they all keep staring at me…."

And just like that her voice filled Arthur's head with words he half remembered. A dream he half forgot. A skirt suit and a bun and a sleek hotel and _Quick, give me a kiss. They're still looking at us__**.**_Arthur stared right through her in the midst of his reverie but didn't notice until her head tilted at him and she looked back down at herself again. He physically shook the memory away. When her eyes lifted back up, there was immense relief. "God, I was afraid it was one of those dreams where all of a sudden you look down and you're naked. But I'm good."

Arthur cleared his throat. (His mind was battling against him. Trying to convince him that she was his dream Ariadne.) "Thankfully, that rarely happens when you control the dream."

"I would be the rare case. Trust me."

And luckily the small woman was too preoccupied with tweaking a lamppost to catch his strange and entranced reaction. "So then why am I getting the stink eye? Does Cobb subconsciously want to kill me?"

"Yes." Ariadne gracelessly skidded and tripped over herself before looking back at the Extractor. Shocked that he was so open, honest and (clearly from the matter-of-fact look on his face) serious about it. She commented half fearful and half sarcastic, "Well that's lovely. I'm passed out alone in a warehouse with you."

"_I _don't personally want to kill you but you're manipulating this world."

She hiccupped a laugh, "I thought that was my job."

Cobb took her arm. Arthur cast a scowl at it and they all stood still on the Pont Neuf, "It is. But you need to be subtle. You're changing too much, too fast. It's alerting me to the strangeness of the dream, the feeling that someone else is fooling around in my mind. My projections are seeking out the cause. And when they find it they will converge and eliminate it."

"So they're like white blood cells and I'm the virus?" Her eyes narrowed, taking it all in. Cobb merely shrugged so she looked to the Point Man for her answer. "Essentially." Arthur leaned on the railing of the bridge and assured, " It doesn't happen every time. I'll train you in hand to hand and gunfire so you'll be prepared."

"Its mind blowing how anything is possible here, isn't it?" Dom grinned.

With sparkling eyes, her head dipped and smirked at a fixed point behind Arthur, "My question is what happens when you start messing with the physics…"

Hard shadows enveloped the city in darkness too rapidly and all-encompassing to be clouds. Curious, the Point Man twisted to look behind him then ended up rearing back. Buildings were zooming over head as Paris folded in half like a slice of bread and all because her raised eyebrow had commanded it. He pried his eyes off the phenomenon to look to Cobb; the Extractor appeared simultaneously petrified and impressed. But a feeling of eeriness was crawling around Arthur's feet and tickling the hairs on the back of his neck. The world around them seemed to stop on a dime. The cars stopped moving, the sound muted, it was as if time stood still. Before Arthur blinked, projections were getting out of cars, climbing on top of the bridge, converging with livid, hostile eyes. They were everywhere.

They started grabbing at Ariadne. They tugged on her clothes, yanked at her hair. Pulled her in several different directions all while dragging her away from him and, "Cobb?!" Her head surfaced above a crowd of projections like she was surfacing from the waters in the ocean but was shoved back down. Arthur was far enough to be of no assistance but close enough to see Ariadne's eyes widen in terror and her whole face go pale. To hear her screech, "COBB!"

Several of them pinned her to the bridge. Arthur didn't think. He shoved his way through them. Of course the projections shoved back. He could make no head way. It was like struggling against a rip current of people. Arthur glanced to see Dom's course of action so they could coordinate and found him leaning on the rail—smiling satisfactorily. The projections were holding Dom back to protect him but he struggled none. Dom was close enough to reach out and touch Ariadne's outstretched arms but did nothing. He let them claw at her. Let them draw blood.

"LET ME GO!" screamed the Architect. Her nose bleeding, her arms slapping, scratching and pushing them off to no avail. Quickly, Arthur dreamt up a gun and began shooting at the people restraining her but the more he shot, the more of them came to hold her down. "Ariadne!" He was almost there…her eyes followed her name to Arthur's, the terror in them so potent that it reached into his gut and mutilated it. The Point was going to kill Dom.

The mob opened up. Parted like the red sea. Out of the corner of his eye, the Point spotted the reason why: The late Mrs. Cobb was marching towards his girl with a butcher knife. "Mal, no." Arthur used the projections' faces as leverage to push himself through to her. Both he and Ariadne roared at the Extractor to do _something_.

The Architect was writhing and struggling against the brutal hands and inhuman eyes. "Arthur! Wake me up! WAKE ME UP!" Arthur lunged for Mal but the gun was knocked out of his hands and the Point was pulled aside by—"Cobb? Let me go! She needs us!"

The blonde locked his arms around Arthur so that he could scarcely move, "No, she needs to feel this."

"PLEASE NO! WAKE ME UP!" Ariadne looked at Arthur pleadingly before the blade plunged into her guts. Choking on her blood, she crumbled to the ground and then disappeared.  
xxxxxx

Arthur jolted awake to the sounds of Ariadne gasping for air. She was clutching her stomach and rocking back and forth, groaning. The lead ripped from his arm so he could rush to her side. So he could kneel by her lawn chair and comfort her. Bring her all the way back to reality. "You're ok. Hey, look at me," he grabbed her hand in his, "Look at me. You're ok."

Her face was still scrunched in pain when she finally obeyed and looked at him. It was too familiar: The Architect waking from a dream with Cobb where Mal stabbed her, Arthur crouched by her, holding her hand, soothing her…he lost himself for a moment. Believed this was the girl he loved who loved him back, who he'd had to calm down many a time before. "The pain is in your mind, ok?" Everything about him softened for her: his voice, his eyes, his grip on her hand. He became tender. It was natural. Natural to slide his hand into the crook of her neck and anchor her head towards him, "Just put it out of your mind and it will go away. I promise." The Architect's face gradually relaxed. Her breathing progressively slowed, her muscles loosened. Melted. She was pliable in his hands. It felt ordinary to run the pad of his thumb along her jaw, "You're alright. I'm here."

The way she responded _wasn't _natural or ordinary, however. Once she was calmed to a point of realizing their position and the intimacy in it, Ariadne stiffened, cut her eyes away from his and blushed furiously. He realized what he allowed himself to do (the corner of his dice dug into his leg through his pocket) and retracted from her. She loosened back up instantly and let her gaze dance around the room, sometimes coming back to meet with her hands and check her stomach, "Why couldn't I wake myself up?"

His Point Man voice was back in tact, "The time on the PASIV wasn't up yet. The only other ways to wake up are through a kick or…dying…"

Ariadne pondered the death for a second and then abandoned the thought for her curiosity once more. "A kick?"

Arthur shook his head, "That's another lesson for another day."

They were interrupted by the beep of the PASIV and Cobb sitting up non-chalantly, "She needs a totem." He acted as if nothing happened. As if it were the usual Monday and he hadn't actively kept Arthur from saving the Architect as she was ripped to shreds and stabbed to death by his dead wife.

The Point gauged her reaction. She deadpanned, "Excuse me, a what?" Then her features darkened and fire came out her mouth like spit and shot at Dom, "Why the hell didn't you do anything down there?! Are you mental?!"

"Yes." Arthur injected into the conversation simply.

The other two—Ariadne and Cobb—ignored the comment. "I was screaming for help and you just stood there!"

He sighed, "It was necessary for you to experience a dream gone wrong. Grab a drink and collect yourself; I want to go over totems before you leave for the day." The tiny Parisian opened her mouth defiantly to protest but he cut her off, "You can always quit Miss Bourgeois…if this seems too overwhelming or dangerous or insane for you…"

Ariadne looked to Roger, the Chemist (He and the forger froze open mouthed in their positions when her, Arthur and Cobb woke up. The gasping and the yelling and the chaos had them enthralled like they were watching tv), "Where's the water fountain?" He gestured behind her to the left and then led the way.

The Point Man stomped to tower over his friend. He harshly whispered, "What the fuck was that? It was her first lesson. She didn't need to be savagely picked apart."

"She needed to experience it," said Dom, coiling his tubing and putting his watch back on. "She needs to know how dangerous it could get—how scary it could get."

Arthur frowned, "I know what you're doing. You're trying to shake her off. She's not scared of this, Dom. She's got more brass than you give her credit for."

The latter crossed his arms over his chest and leaned in, "Contrary to _your_ scheme, I'm trying to protect her. To do what's best for her." The punctuation mark of his sentence was the click of the PASIV closing.

"By traumatizing her the first day out? By being insensitive?"

"Insensitive," repeated the blonde, "Do you hear yourself? That is the least of her worries in this business and you know it." Cobb gritted. "I thought you said she had more brass than I give her credit for. You act like she's as easily scared as a deer."

Ariadne and Roger's footsteps (and quiet chatter) returned from the back of the warehouse so Arthur wrapped it up. "You touch her, you hurt her, you make her feel threatened in any way and I swear to God, Dom…"

"So totems…" she chimed, a grit in her jaw and a defiant glint. Ariadne was forcibly keeping herself from tackling and beating Cobb to a pulp.  
xxxxxx

It was raining cats and dogs by the end of their totem lesson. Arthur believed Ariadne left twenty minutes earlier than she had. He wrapped up preliminary file sorting and headed outside to find her sitting on the front steps, chin in hand, waiting for the rain to die down. Her trusty bike was chained to a lamppost, taking an utter beating from the rainfall. "Still here?" He had no control over the leap in his stomach at the concept.

Ariadne pursed her lips and nodded in response, then checked her phone for the time. "Why don't I drive you home? I'll double back when the rain stops and transport your bike back to your place."

She winced at him. Then glanced at her bike and winced even harder. "If you wouldn't mind."

"Not at all," Arthur sheathed an umbrella from his satchel, opened it and held it above her head until she took hold of the handle. "I'll pull the car closer to the curb." He readied himself: pulled his jacket over his ears and put his bag over his head then jogged down the steps, around the corner and out of sight. It took less than a minute for his sleek car to pull up. Ariadne was a little graceless getting in. The umbrella got stuck but she was far less soaked than she'd be if she rode her bike without any cover all the way home. She shook the closed umbrella over his plastic floorboard covers and apologized, "I'm sorry about the leather…" doing her best to sop up the water that snuck in with her jacket.

Arthur didn't answer. He had a solution for everything. He reached over her and opened the glove compartment which revealed a roll of paper towels, "Happens all the time."

Once they were on the road for a couple minutes and she relayed the vicinity of where she lived (though he already knew), his clutch on the steering wheel loosened and he was able to lean back into the seat with less tension. The last time they were in a car together his entire life turned upside down. "I'm sorry about the way Dom acted today. He has issues. I mean—we all do but he _really _does."

"It's ok," replied the woman, half paying attention and scrolling through a social media timeline. "He's a sink or swim type teacher. I was startled at the brutality in the dream but I suppose I should get used to it anyway."

He hated the squeak of the windshield wipers for making the silence more awkward than it should be and hated himself for continuously glancing where the seatbelt lined up against her neck. Ariadne spoke again, "The totem thing is a really elegant way to keep track of reality. Did he come up with it?"

Arthur corrected, "Mal did."

"Miles doesn't like to talk about her. He gets super emotional when things remind him of her. Ferris wheels, blue macaroons, big windows…me. Sometimes…" the woman rested her head back on the seat and observed the bleary day outside her window aimlessly, "Sometimes I'll say something or look at him a certain way or I don't even know what I do—and Miles will get this melancholy look on his face. He'll zone out into the distance for minute or two then pat me on the head and tell me how glad he is that I'm here. That he has me." Ariadne's head rolled to the other side so she could look at Arthur when she asked, "What was she like in reality?"

Arthur pondered and smiled sadly, "She was lovely. Intelligent. Courageous. You're a lot alike. Mal was mellower though…You're a nonstop powerhouse."

Ariadne shrugged and pointed to the street for him to turn on, "I can be mellow."

"You're about as mellow as a lightning bolt," chuckled the man.

"Uh thanks?"

"It was a compliment. That's one of the many things I lo—" the man voice snagged on the word 'love' and tripped into a cough to cover it up. "Admire about you."

Her eyes narrowed at him but she made no comment. They were pulling up to her building anyway. Arthur offered to let her borrow the umbrella to get inside as she gathered her belongings at her feet and prepared to run up the steps. "Thank you for driving me."

"Happy to." He wanted to lean over and kiss her goodbye. By habit, he expected her to turn and peck his lips or even his cheek. Instead, she pulled at the door handle and waved at the building's front door.

xxxxxx

The next day wasn't any different in the way she chirpily walked in. Despite the events of the day before, her enthusiasm hadn't swayed. She had a takeout box in her hand in lieu of a coffee cup (leftovers from lunch). Cobb suggested she not come in until one because the lesson on kicks wouldn't take long. At the latest it would span until dinner and then she'd be done for the day. He also explained that when a novice to the dream world came aboard, the first two weeks were always slow and comfy to ease them into the lifestyle and give them time to grasp all the concepts. In Ariadne's case it would only take a week. Or a few days really. Out of everyone he'd had a hand in training (including Arthur) Ariadne got a hang of things the quickest. She had Cobb's eagerness and architecturally educated background, Arthur's focus and logic and her own immense creativity and imagination. It made it all easy for her. Too easy almost. Like she'd done it before and was just getting a refresher course.

Jameson prepared a sample of the particular version of sedative that was solely sensitive to movement. One that could trigger a kick without much thought or effort. Perfect for a newbie's first round of them. And Roger was asked to come into the dream for projection control (and if they could squeeze it in, they would go over some basic info about forgers). Ariadne built the coast of Florence on a whim. The Extractor asked her to pick somewhere she'd never been but would like to visit and see how close she could get to the real thing by sheer imagination. There were bright oranges and reds, boats and cobblestone.

Arthur recognized the surroundings immediately. Florence was where they spent their six month anniversary in his dream. Not by choice…they were already in Italy for a job but he made sure they took a day off together. "Come here…" the Architect's voice coaxed coyly. The Point swerved to look confusedly at her.

Her and Cobb were several feet in front of him on the dock involved in conversation. The man maneuvered his arms back and forth and the woman nodded in intervals, soaking it up like the sponge she was. Roger was crossing the street to stand with Arthur, shooting him an 'are you ok' look. Then Arthur heard his own chuckle. Where was this coming from? He scanned the landscape to the front and sides of him, peered into the traffic on the streets, the storefronts, then pivoted to see two projections on the dock a good ways behind him. A carbon copy of the Architect leant her back against some railing and beamed up at a carbon copy of Arthur. His doppelganger towered over her, tucked her hair behind her ear, "You know…I must _really_ love you. I'm ditching work for this." The real Point Man vividly remembered this scene. Remembered the way her hair smelled that day, the feel of her crocheted scarf, the taste of spaghetti on her breath. His nostrils filled with the scent of green apple. His fingers curled to get rid of the sturdy fabric that wasn't there and he swallowed to get rid of the subtle flavor of parmesan and garlic. It wasn't real…it was a dream. But how could it not be real when he was experiencing what he was witnessing? The projection of Ariadne (which in this case was _the one_ he was in love with) playfully tugged his tie to mash her lips with his. "You could always go back…" simpered the girl.

Arthur whispered to himself, "There's nowhere else I'd rather be."

And then his copy replied to her, "There's nowhere else I'd rather be."

"Hey, you ok?" The Point was nudged in the arm by the carrot-topped Forger. He glanced at him embarrassed but when he looked back to his shades, they were gone. "Fine. I'm fine." The men joined the Extractor and Ariadne who seemed on a mission to cross the street to the town now. As Arthur and Roger got closer they could listen in on the lesson. Cobb was instructing, "Now, never _ever _jump without at least feeling your totem first."

Ariadne, half annoyed, nodded her head impatiently, "I know. You already said that."

"It's important," reiterated the blonde.

They stopped and waited for a break in traffic to cross. The sun beat down on them (a perfect temperature) and shone off her hair. Ariadne looked up and squinted her eyes due to the light, "I could just build us a tower right here…"

"Would you like the projections to rip you apart and push you off the top?"

Yeah, she frowned at that. Over her shoulder, she gave Arthur a random fleeting glance and then shrugged, "Three blocks isn't that far." Roger decided to insert himself into the conversation by being nosy, "Have you explained being kicked from above?"

"Mhm." Ariadne answered and the group stepped out into the road, looking on both sides to make sure no automobiles would come and run them over before they made it safely to the other side. The large stony pathways between the buildings gave the alleys an intimate and quaint flair, contrasting the pop of warm summer colored structures. Cobb elaborated, "I thought it'd be better to have her test a self-induced kick first. The other feels more like the dream is collapsing." They passed a few locals who rolled their market baskets and a few on their cell phones. They passed a couple pressed against a wall, kissing and nipping at each other and averted their eyes awkwardly. Ariadne and Roger turned the corner before the girl sighed, "Arthur…" The Point Man and Extractor stopped dead in their tracks and peered back at the couple. The one more visible—the man in a business suit—was lightly pushed back from her, "We're in public," she reasoned, though breathlessly. "We're in an abandoned alley," corrected the undoubtedly cloned Arthur. "Still…I don't want to be _that _untactful couple." He sighed but sweetly obliged in stepping away from her, revealing it to be Ariadne. She pecked him again and linked their fingers together, "We can be untactful in our hotel room tonight."

He smiled with his dimples and nodded, "Yes Dear." Attentively, he wiped the corner of her mouth and pushed her hair back from her shoulder, "Where to for dinner?"

Cobb tugged (more like hauled and propelled) the real Arthur around the corner. "What the fuck is _that_?"

Cautiously, the Point looked over Dom's shoulder at Ariadne and Roger. They were still walking, fixing to cross over to the square where the markets were set up. Sure that they were out of hearing distance he voiced his theory, "I believe my dream memories are manifesting themselves. She built Florence…that's where we spent our six month anniversary in limbo. I have no idea why it's happening."

"Cobb! Arthur!" When the boys gave her their attention she lifted her arms up, "Are you coming or what?"

Cobb spun and gritted, "Find a way to suppress this NOW," and then marched to the markets.

This corner market lacked antiques and handmade clothing but had a wide array of fruits and vegetables, even some seafood from the coast and a selection of cheeses. The building that was tall enough for her to jump off was just through the market and a street over to the right—a hotel for tourists who wanted to stay close to the docks. Ariadne took her time walking through it to admire her handiwork. It was amazing how believable the feel of this city was, especially since she'd never been to Italy except via Google. The Architect stopped off to browse some zucchini and heard Arthur call her. She spotted him by the fruits when she looked behind but he wasn't looking at her, he was looking at another short girl with brown hair and a scarf bounding over to him. Her eyebrows furrowed as she examined Arthur and the girl. Ariadne sort of heard the woman hold up a small basket of fruit and ask, "These grapes look good…they said they just came in from one of the vineyards in the town over, you want some?" Arthur flippantly agreed. The girl lifted her head from the fruit to smile at him and—holy shit it looked like _her_. She (but not _she_) questioned, "What are you getting?" He then took a bouquet of fresh flowers from the vendor and presented them, "Beautiful flowers for my beautiful girl…"

"Ariadne." There his voice called again—but it was closer. The Architect felt a hand circle her upper arm and tore her eyes from the scene. It was the Point Man. But—how could he be in two—she twisted back to the fruit and flowers stands and there was no one there. He urged, "The scape is wonderful but for the sake of completing the lesson in a timely manner…"

"Yeah. Yeah, sorry. It's right here." She passed the last few vendors and found a door on the side street to enter. They had to climb flights of stairs to the rooftop. Ariadne was fine with the idea until she was up there with the wind blowing through her hair, making her cold. With the ground so far away…she was iffy. Even with her glass pawn she'd blowtorched yesterday (hell yes, _blowtorched_) pressing into her hand in the pocket of her jacket and telling her she was asleep. Her foot brushed the edge and kicked some loose rocks off, "I'll wake up before I hit the ground, right?"

Roger chuckled, "Ideally."

"That's why we chose a building this high," added the Point after she pulled a face of hesitancy.

Closing her eyes, Ariadne took a deep breath and stuck one foot out into the air to step off—It swung back quickly so she could take a step back. "God, this is scary. My imagination is backfiring."

"Just do it. We don't have much time left on the clock," the Forger wheedled at her and Cobb added, "You'll be fine," with little comfort to be found in the statement.

Her hand ran through her hair as Arthur stepped up beside her. "It just feels too real." For some reason, Arthur's presence was soothing. He was always there to listen, always ready to offer words of reassurance to her so she felt at ease speaking her mind. "I almost don't trust my totem."

"Do you trust _me_?"

Ariadne looked him over peculiarly, "I don't know you well enough to answer that."

In this world, with this Ariadne, it was true. He had to admit that. But he still offered his hand and maneuvered so that the balls of his feet hung over the ledge, "I'll jump too."

The girl studied his open palm as if she was inspecting his handprint. He had to have been completely, one hundred percent sure of his reality to put his life at risk. That or he was incredibly generous—ready to die for a co-worker he just met. Slowly her hand pulled out of her jacket pocket (it was holding the chess piece) and rested in his. The electrocution elicited an intake of Ariadne's breath. Of course, she thought he was handsome (she liked sneaking peeks at him through the work day) but she never expected that his touch would unhinge her. She thought he was good-looking, she didn't think she had a crush on him per say but it was safe to say she might now. Ariadne chanced a look at his reaction but saw him staring wide eyed over her shoulder. Always curious, she wanted to see it too.

The couple they passed in the alley, the two she saw in the market: they were on the roof with them. Clearly out of place…and this version of Arthur was obviously not himself. His perfect hair was free of gel and tussled. He wore a grey undershirt and black sweatpants and sat with his legs open. And the girl she saw earlier who looked like her? Was definitely her. Like she was looking in the mirror. This version of Ariadne had her hair down and free, a man's (couldn't be the Point's, could it?) dress shirt on that came down to her knees and green striped socks. She was propped up against Arthur, in between his legs, holding a cup of coffee and they were both looking at a newspaper Arthur held in front of them. They looked content to be that way, like it was a normal occurrence. They fit like puzzle pieces. He was the question and she was the answer. The Point's copy clicked his tongue, "Damn. The Packers lost 32-12." Her copy didn't say anything just silently laughed to herself and smiled a sweet, close lipped smile at the oblivious Point as if he was the universe.

The true Ariadne felt her face and neck (and even her hand) burn with humiliation. Could your thoughts turn into wishes and materialize for everyone to see when you dreamt lucidly? She only thought about him like that for second and poof! Now everyone knew she had. God…Could she die of mortification? Yes, she could. The fall towards the ground was welcomed when she threw herself off and pulled him with her.  
xxxxxx

He tried to will it away but the feel of holding her, of whispering to her felt so tangible. So right. He knew it wasn't real but he wanted it to be and that fueled his subconscious to project all of his memories of them. Ariadne had seen it plain as day, there was no question. It wasn't brought up when they woke so he left it at that. Ariadne couldn't and wouldn't look at him the rest of the day. She avoided his desk with a ten foot pole out of embarrassment which truthfully fueled Arthur's own discomfiture. Cobb privately ordered he stay out of the next dream and that he stay after she left. The two men pittled around until everyone had cleared from the warehouse. Arthur was first to speak; he sensed he was fixing to be berated again and wasn't in the mood. "Dom, I have it under control…"

"No. You don't." Arthur opened his mouth but Cobb wouldn't let him speak. It wasn't a discussion to him. "I'll train Ariadne alone from now on. You will not go under with her or engage in any extraneous activities outside of work. You co-exist and that's the extent of it, do you understand?"

No, the Point most certainly didn't, "I'm not a child you can order around—"

"You have serious issues now Arthur!" Dom slammed his fist down. "You have shades! _And_ Ariadne has seen them! She has no idea what's going with you. No idea about the truth to your motives and she needs to stay uninvolved. I promised Miles that if you went insane, that I wouldn't let you drag her with you."

The Point Man scowled, "_My_ insanity?! Because _your_ _**murderous**_projections of Mal aren't insane?!"

"Art…" he dragged out and rubbed his temple apologetically, "I'm being as lenient as possible for your sake. But I _will _pull her from this team if you don't back off. I won't enable you or endanger the girl."

Arthur snatched the PASIV and stormed out, leaving Cobb to lock up.

xxxxxx

Ariadne picked two egg rolls out of the carton and sat them on the edge of her plate next to the lo mein. The phone pressed to her ear dribbled on and on as it rang until a wise-cracking old man picked up, "Ah, she lives."

"I'm sorry I didn't call yesterday I've been _slightly _preoccupied," the woman apologized. She also accidentally dripped sweet and sour sauce on the rug beneath her crossed legs, and furiously rubbed it out (made it worse) with a napkin. "Is Tyler a sufficient TA replacement?"

"So far," said Miles, "and he doesn't make snide remarks about the students under his breath when they screw up."

"Ok first off, I don't say anything about the people who _actually _put in effort," said she, picking apart honey chicken with her fork, "Second, you love my snide remarks. It keeps the classroom alive."

He snickered quietly. He didn't want to admit he found it as humorous as she did…although he agreed with her under his breath all the time. "It does. But neither of us want to hear about_ those_ delinquents. I want to hear about the ones you're working with _now_. How's the job?"

"Incredible. Unbelievable. Amazing. I'm in love with it." Ariadne gushed in between bites of egg roll. "Even though I know that's not what you want to hear."

Miles scoffed defensively, "Why would you say that?"

Ariadne scoffed right back but there was playfulness in hers, "Because you didn't want me to take the job. Which I understand…You're worried cause it's a dangerous field to play in. I could tell you were hesitant about introducing me to Arthur." Before Miles could reply, make a case, make a sound, Ariadne plowed forward, "What's wrong with him?"

Nothing got past the tiny Parisian…Arthur wasn't able to harness his emotions, ideas and questions when it came to her and evidently she'd picked up on it. Miles sucked in a deep breath and attempted to pull the wool over her eyes even while realizing it was futile, "There's nothing—"

"What aren't you telling me?" His brief silence allowed time for her to shovel in some lo mein and idly look at the window and the sparkly Eiffel through the trees. "Miles," demanded the girl.

"He's sick."

"What, like cancer?"

Stephen sighed exasperatedly, "Cancer of the mind. It may as well be…" He didn't want to alarm her too much with details so he tried to keep it vague. Basic. "He's been through a lot the past month. A job on a very vindictive mark went south and when all was said and done, Arthur was trapped in a dream for two years. He's very confused. He thinks…" The very same picture of Ariadne that Arthur first gravitated to on the coffee table stared at him and guilted him to tell the truth. But he couldn't. There was too much at stake. "He thinks some people are someone they aren't. It worries Cobb and I."

The Architect pondered that, forgetting her Chinese for a minute. She dropped her tone, a clue that showed she was analyzing things, fitting pieces together. It had Miles on pins and needles. "Is that why he looks at me like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like…" her lips pursed in concentration. Called a moment from earlier (from their hands touching and _Do you trust me? _on the rooftop she created) to her mind so she could see and study what exactly was hidden in Arthur's eyes. "Like he knows me. And not like—we work together so he knows me but like…he _knows _me: The pattern of freckles on my back and my favorite type of cookie and my worst nightmare. He's different around me; I can tell by the way Cobb's eyes widen when Arthur walks me out at night. By the way he tries to chew him out quietly after we wake up and Arthur takes my needle out for me. Dom sees the way he looks at me too. I guess that's why he acts so worried and upset? Arthur just…he looks at me like he's the question and I'm the answer."

Miles was near the point of a migraine. It was very unlike Ariadne to be completely silent (he couldn't even hear the wheels in her head turn) thus his question, "Are you alright? Does it make you feel too uncomfortable?"

Ariadne wasn't very hungry anymore. She put her plate on the coffee table and pushed it away, "I don't know what it makes me feel..."

"As I said, sweetheart, he's confused. Please be patient with him. It's a fine line of sanity he's toeing."

_Because you're mine,  
I walk the line._

xxxxxxx

Ruh-roh! She's definitely catching on. Do you think she'll approach Arthur about it? Or try to ignore it for a while?


	6. I Can Dream

**THANKSIES: **_neverlandspirit: _mhm…crush she has. But will she crush Arthur? _Lauraa-x: _I'll go ahead and tell you, she confronts him about it in this chapter but not everything will come off his chest. He's still keeping so many secrets from her. It is me…so a triangle is completely possible haha but right now absolutely not. Dom and Miles are just trying their best to avoid disaster and whatever cost. (disaster's cost? Probably). _Midnight The Black Fox: _Yayayay! I'm so glad. Thanks for sharing. =) I appreciate it.

**Chapter 6: I Can Dream, Can't I?**

_I can see, no matter how near you'll be  
You'll never belong to me  
But I can't dream, can't I?  
For dreams are just like wine  
And I am drunk with mine.  
_—The Andrews Sisters 

xxxxxxx

_He loves and he hates Ariadne in the morning. He has to admit that sometimes it's amusing but sometimes it's downright frustrating. It hasn't been diagnosed but Arthur has a phobia of being late and when you have Ariadne to pry out of bed, late is most likely a possibility._

_This is why he hates her:_

_The alarm clock screams at six o'clock, ordering them to wake up and face the day. For Arthur, sitting up right away is not a problem. This is his usual routine. If the clock hadn't gone off his biological one would've had him up anyway. The alarm was more for Ariadne even though she always either slept through it or hid her head under her pillow and tuned it out. The latter was what she did today. Arthur snakes his hand under the pillow and tugs at some of her matted curls, "Ariadne, it's time to wake up." She makes an unintelligible noise he interprets is somewhere between 'But I'm comfy' and 'Fuck off'. _

_And they're off for round one. "If I leave you alone and let you stay in bed while I shower, will you at least sit up and try to get awake?" She grips the pillow tighter over her head with one hand and swats blindly through the air with the other, feeling for the sleep button because the alarm's still yelling at her. This is where Arthur normally uses bribing. "I'm not turning it off until you sit up." The Point Man sees the hump of sheets heave a sigh and then her face emerges as she unhappily situates her back against the headboard. He smiles, "That a girl," (which she ignores) turns off the blaring clock and turns on the tv for her to watch while he goes through his morning routine. _

_Round two: He walks out of their bathroom with clean body, face shaved, hair gelled, teeth brushed and suit pants on and belted to the tune of a Clorox commercial. The tv blinks all over the place in a desperate struggle to get Ariadne's attention but what's she doing? Still sitting up as promised…he has to take that into consideration…but her head's hung down and her hair swings in her face like Cousin It while she sleeps. Arthur takes a deep breath to enlist his patience for the war. His arms encircle her waist from the side while he whispers in a sing song voice, "Ari, are you awake?" She nods without rhythm, "Mhm." This is where he begins pulling her off the mattress and where she grapples for the sheets to keep her in place. _

_Round three: He carries her by her waist into the closet. "Arthur…"she mewls. And it's cute…almost enough for him to carry her back to bed and wake her up in a highly more enjoyable way _but_ he doesn't want to miss their flight. Arthur slaps on his shirt, tie and jacket at an efficient speed while Ariadne pulls clothes from different drawers sluggishly. Arthur always finishes dressing first because he sets his clothes out the night before, Ariadne wings it. He leaves her standing in front of the bed, pulling on her shirt to brew coffee and make them a quick breakfast. _

_Round Four is when he returns and her blouse is on but her jeans never made it farther than her ankles and the top half of her body is sprawled across the edge of the bed, her scarf dangling limply from her hands. And she's none other than fast asleep. "Ariadne." The Architect mumbles with eyes shut, "Five more minutes." He matches her position, his face inches away, coffee on his breath, "I gave you five minutes over forty minutes ago. You need to get dressed. We have to leave in twenty minutes and you haven't even had breakfast yet."_

"_What are you, my dad?"_

_He chuckles, "Not even close. Come on." When he has to do this it's really never frustrating…he has her sit on the edge of the bed and makes sure to graze her bare skin with his fingers as he pulls her jeans up for her. She always gets goose bumps and he always kisses her belly button when he buttons the pants. The downside is that she's normally so tired, that once it's done she's either half asleep again or more irritable as she shuffles into the bathroom. Thank God, it was the latter in this instance. "Two scrambled eggs or one?"_

"_One." She huffs._

"_Bacon or sausage?"_

"_Bacon." _

_Round Five consists of him calling her in five minute intervals while he cooks and she primps. All various forms of: 'Are you awake?' 'Still awake?' 'Still up?' 'Ariadne!' And all of her answers are exaggerated arrangements of , 'YES.' 'YES ARTHUR.' 'IF I WAS ASLEEP I COULDN'T ANSWER YOU.' When breakfast sits sizzling on the table, he knocks on the bathroom room door and cracks it. He always means it as a joke because it's funny to him but she just wants to punch his lights out, "Still awake?" She throws her eyeliner in the sink, "YES, ARTHUR. JESUS CHRIST!" That's when he really hates her in the mornings._

_He loves her during Round Six. Or seven or eight, it depends how many they've had to go through by that point. But that's when she strolls out of the bedroom and uses five of her ten minutes to scarf down her food. That's when she wakes up as much as she's going to that morning and the tired monster of grumpiness turns into the sleepy, cuddly, creature he can't say no to. She uses her last five minutes to straddle his lap. Not heatedly just like sitting on an everyday chair. She plays with the hair on the nape of his neck, rests her head on his shoulder and says, "Sorry for being grouchy when I wake up." And he says, "It's ok," between the peppered kisses on his cheeks. Because dragging her out of bed is worth every second of this. _

xxxxxxx

The thing about waking up in this reality was that there was no one to pester and wrench from his bed. No one to chide grouchily at him for not turning off the alarm went it went off no matter how long he let it scream (just to see if she'd materialize and swat at him to turn it off). The thing about this reality was that this Ariadne acted fine, waltzing into the warehouse early every day with a bright smile. Sure, she surrounded herself with energy drinks and coffee just the same but where were the charming droopy eyes? And cranky humor?

Arthur ran into the pixie Parisian on the way into work that next morning. He had to park two blocks away due to vacancies and Ariadne was walking. She always looked excited when she showed up but that day especially so. The tradition of buying éclairs for fellow students was transferred to the team. The girl with big white box in hand hurried her pace to cross the street and fall into step with him, "Morning Point Man."

He'd spent all morning preparing to steel himself around her the way normal Arthur would with a coworker. He'd rather have her around and follow Dom's rules than be separated from her completely. "Hello Miss Bourgeois." It came out curt like he'd practiced in the mirror but the Architect didn't seem to take the hint.

"You know what's really crazy?" she mused, "I hate mornings and normally I cannot get up for the life of me. But since I started dreaming? I can hardly sleep… and I must wake up around seven every morning…I just get so pumped for our lessons."

Arthur picked up his pace, expecting her to believe he was in a hurry and hang back to give him space, "It's good that you have enthusiasm. You'll get a lot accomplished." But she stretched her strides to keep up. Dammit…she was adorable when she did that; he didn't think that idea through far enough.

When he opened the door, she bounded through it and babbled, "Especially when I can double the time I have to accomplish things in the dream…" Arthur bypassed hanging his outer jacket and harried to his desk to power on his laptop. That bought him distance while she hung her red sweater and put the box of pastries on the table in the middle of the room. Since it was on her way to her desk, she made a pit stop, anxious to get started. His hard stare at the loading screen flickered to the éclair set carefully on a napkin by his arm. "Well, I'm ready when you are. Are we going under before or after the meeting?"

He just couldn't get away from her…not that he wanted to. Arthur felt Dom's eyes boring into him, warning him, and made brief eye contact before stating, "I don't think I'll be joining you for the session."

Filled with confusion she stuttered, "But—Cobb said we were doing target practice and hand to hand today and the itinerary you printed up said _you_ were going to teach me all that." To check and make sure, Ariadne pulled the sheet from the front zipper of her messenger and grazed her eyes over it. "See?" He couldn't exactly deny the schedule when it was slapped on his desk like that. The longer Ariadne stood there, the weaker his resolve started to get and the more brutal Dom's glare. The girl pointed, "The eleventh: You and me. Punching things and shooting stuff." Arthur conceded that was the plan but opened his mouth to tell her plans change… She whispered, "Between you and me…After all the violent ways Mrs. Cobb has killed me, I don't exactly trust being alone with Dom and a gun. Dream or not."

Great. Ariadne alluded to the fact that she trusted Arthur. Made him feel like the protector, like Cobb was the dangerous one. And for all intents and purposes, Cobb _was _just as dangerous as Arthur and had been that way for longer. Arthur couldn't fight Dom on it; Ariadne would be fired before the day was over. He compromised, "I'll have Roger accompany you two then."

"I'd rather be wit—"

He didn't mean for it to sound rude but the stress of Dom's eyes cut through him and he clipped at her to make her go away, "I have research. Cobb and Roger will deal with you today. That's that."

"_Deal?_" The air turned to silence and the silence became awkward.

When Arthur looked up apologetically, Ariadne was already pursing her lips and looking at Dom who called out to the class, "Let's go ahead and start the meeting guys!" She didn't acknowledge Arthur again in the slightest. She marched off and took her seat in between the chair Cobb was standing in front of and the stool Jameson was waiting at. He could see Dom ask her and saw her shake her head dismissively but couldn't hear what either of them were saying until he reached the circle and caught the end of her, "—eing an asshole."  
xxxxxxx

That set the pattern of their interactions from then on. Arthur would bury himself in his files—both paper and digital—and for the most part, avoid her. They barely conversed and when they did it was because of the Architect's effort to do so...her effort was lessening as the days went on. Arthur wasn't of any help. He kept what little they talked about to the bare minimum. He could tell it bothered her and it bothered _him_ to treat her like that but it was for her own good. Cobb was right. Miles was right. Arthur did nothing but romanticize the dream share world and criminal life for her whereas Dom was harsh and blunt about it being a whirlpool of guilt, danger and wrongdoing.

Ariadne woke up in a panic too many times to number the remainder of that week and the one following. Stabbed, drowned, ripped apart, pushed off buildings. Cobb's subconscious adversely reacted to her every time they went under together. Mal appeared here and there and it was driving the blonde crazy. Arthur did his utmost to refrain from coming to her aid as he had the first time it happened. His time in limbo left him an instinct to protect her and soothe her that transferred to the real world and it literally pained him to ignore her feeble endeavors to calm herself. His chest would tighten and itch. The Point learned to put his earphones in when he noticed the Extractor taking her under. It was safe to say her relationship with Dom was a strange and tricky one as was Arthur's relationship with him. More than scaring her away it scared her closer. Ariadne didn't hide the fact that she worried over him and the issues about his wife. More often than not, Arthur saw her pass by Cobb's office and fall asleep at her desk waiting for the Extractor to leave before she did. The Point may have wondered if she would treat _his _issues with concern, understanding and sweet disposition…but he wouldn't chance it.

The girl had made good friends with Roger and Jameson as well, he noticed. The Architect would often pull up a chair or sit on Jameson's desk and ask him questions, watch him mix things. He guessed it was because every time her curious eyes batted at Arthur like she was fixing to ask something, he'd roll his or duck his head. So she found someone else she could talk to about the wonder of pure creation. Roger, thankfully, had no real likeness to Eames. If there was one thing about these circumstances Arthur liked, it was that Ariadne hadn't been exposed to the other Forger and his diluted charming ways. The tiny brunette and stalky redhead went on coffee and dinner-runs with each other more than anything else and their discussions centered around Spain. Ariadne had always wanted to go and Roger had lived there for three years studying the culture before his involvement as a forger. She always had bright, sparkling brown orbs for eyes when she talked to him and Arthur selfishly hoped that her interest in the country was all it was. After all, _he _was the one she spent hours talking to in the dream. Everything else was replicating close enough but he was pushing her in someone else's direction…he was causing her to replicate _their_ relationship with someone else. He prayed the outcome wouldn't be the same; that somehow, even though he was alienating her, even though Dom had him on short leash, even though the days pried them further and further apart from his goal…that Ariadne would still fall for him.

She had him on the floor of the shower every night, rubbing his forehead. Trying to knead the thoughts of her falling for someone else out of his mind. She had him waking up in the middle of the night, sitting on the balcony, trying to drown his emotions in scotch. She had him stumbling outside the warehouse, into the alleyway, pressing his back against the brick, trying and failing to breathe evenly. She had him constantly clutching his totem. She had him splashing water on his face and swearing to the mirror in the bathroom. She had his eyes glued to her every time her back was turned. She had his ears straining for her voice every time she made a noise. She had the ache in his throat when she sprung up, gasping from a bad a dream, glanced at him for comfort and then retracted her eyes, angry. She had his heart swinging on a string and she got it caught in door when she left every day.

She had him_._ _God_, _she_ _had him_.

But he'd lost her before he ever _had her_.  
xxxxxxx

Then on Monday of the third week after a weekend spent consumed by ideas, regrets and wishes in his hotel room, things changed.

"Alright I've had enough of this, let's have it out," Ariadne marched right up to his workspace and pressed his laptop closed. His attention demanded, Arthur allowed eye contact but kept it guarded. Kept reminding himself over and over: _not your Ariadne. Shut her out. _"Have I offended you? Or embarrassed you or something?" Her arms crossed under her chest. She was clearly referring to the incident where everyone saw projections of them cuddling on a roof. It made sense, since immediately after that he had next to nothing to do with her.

Arthur kept it short, "No," and reopened his laptop. Closing it only put in in hibernate mode, so his progress and browser tabs would still be where he left them.

The small, nail bitten hands of the Architect landed on either side of his keyboard and she stared hard at him over the screen, "Then have I disappointed you?"

"Of course not," He leveled (what must have seemed like) a parental look at her, "What would give you that impression?"

Oh she didn't know…the two polar different ways he acted around her? Him rudely blowing her off? Maybe it was the ignoring part that rang a bell? "Well, no offense but when I first signed on you were kind of all over me," Ariadne's body turned and pressed all her weight into the desk with her right hip, "And lately you've been acting like you don't want me around at all." He was still engrossed in his work on the computer. It was like she was talking to herself. Ariadne sighed and idly watched Cobb shuffle through some papers across the room; she didn't notice that her puff of breath caused Arthur to look up and study her. "It's like you can't stand me."

Damn. Arthur only meant to leave her out of his mind-bending problems not make her feel that he harbored negative feelings towards her. No. Who was he kidding? He was deliberately discourteous to keep her isolated from him. To makes things easier. He looked down at his keyboard, "That could not be further from the truth."

The closeness and volume of her voice suggested she turned back to face him again, "You don't have to be polite _now_. I know you've been avoiding me."

"I haven't." He lied and started shaking his head at himself.

"You were supposed to train me and since day one you've pawned me off on Dom. You barely speak to me. Work related or not." Arthur accidentally let a heavy breath slip. "You won't even look at me right now."

At that, the Point Man braved to meet the caramel swirls that made him so weak. The hurt feelings inside them melted his exterior. Melted Dom's threat away. "It's just my nature. I'm closed off to people." Everyone. Everyone but her…she makes him open up. No matter what dimension he's in. She was doing it that second.

"You weren't closed off at lunch." Ariadne shrugged, baffled, "Or our first few dreams together."

Did he have a valid explanation for that? No. Not at all. "Look, Cobb wanted to spearhead your training to make sure everything was covered. The Extractor handles every minute detail you'd need to know: all the tricks and techniques of the trade." He tried to make it sound as professional and procedural as possible. But she thwarted him. Ariadne was already well-versed in the roles and responsibilities of team members. He forgot it was the first thing she learned when he snuck her into the dreams before her big decision. "Details are the Point Man's concern." It was a direct quote of his so there was no denying or skirting around it. He dropped his gaze back down to his computer, for once at a loss of a quick retort.

"It's not a big deal. I'm a big girl, I can handle it if someone doesn't like me—" No, no, no. That wasn't it at all. The problem here was that he liked her too much. He _loved _her. So much, that he scrounged up a job and constructed all this just to have an excuse to be close to her.

"—It's just that we're teammates; I don't want things to be awkward. And if I've done something to make you uncomfortable around me, I'd like to fix it." Ariadne's index and middle finger tapped on the wood as she waited for a response or—come on, at the very least an acknowledgment of how she felt. Arthur buried his hands in his face. Was she that bothersome? "You're impossible." Wind blew out of her cheeks and she turned to leave—

"Has Dom gone over the mechanics of paradoxical architecture with you yet?" blurted the man. He exploded with the question. She turned back (her lips wet with the sheen of having just licked them) and shook her head no. "Allow me, then." Arthur looked over at Cobb who glowered while Arthur pulled out the PASIV. As she drug over a chair, he facetiously grinned back at the Extractor and quipped, "There's this great structure called the Penrose Steps."

xxxxxxx

"Impressive." Her smirk was the first thing he saw, examining the clean cut corporate skyscraper he dropped in the middle of New York. Peculiar that the teacher craved the student's approval in this case. Her heels clicked on the tile, acting as the conductor for the beat of his heart to follow. His mind dressed her up in an exquisitely fitted black skirt suit but left her hair free and flowing as they both preferred it. The beauty in the lines of her body eclipsed the lines of the building.

And that was saying something, considering the walls were twisted and bent into impossible shapes. Upwards, downwards, sideways. It looked like a puzzle. Without Cobb breathing down his neck and no projections of them canoodling in the corners, Arthur felt free to smirk back, "MC Escher. Familiar?"

"Heard of him…" He walked ahead of her. He had a specific point of the building in mind to show her and determinedly strode the open lobby to it. It brought him slight humor to hear her steps quicken to keep up with him, "Seen two or three of his works but—us real life Architects don't necessarily study the impossible as examples."

Arthur halted at the bottom of a glass staircase, "You like impossible, though, don't you?"

She challenged him with a raise of her eyebrows, "I love impossible."

_You're impossible._ Didn't she say that to him earlier? Don't have a heart attack Arthur. Breathe. The aura of flirtation was so overwhelming, he convinced himself to get back on track lest his shades start manifesting themselves. Thank God, he had that reasoning to fall back on. Arthur began climbing the stairs, "In dreams, we can cheat physics and architecture to create seemingly impossible structures." They passed a woman collecting dropped papers and scooted around her. "That allows us to use tricks like infinite loops. For example, the Penrose Steps I was talking about." They passed the woman again and Ariadne paused to think over it. Arthur kept climbing up but she asked confusedly, "Haven't we already passed her?"

His low snicker magically sounded from behind her, "Paradox." Ariadne jumped in surprise and twisted to catch his simper but nearly lost her balance. Arthur's hands shot to her hips and pulled her against him by reflex so she wouldn't fall. Her quickening breaths of relief got very deep when she realized how close they were. How hot his body was through all his clothes. Where his hands pressed into her. The girl forgot everything about dreams and MC Escher and being a couple hundred feet from the ground.

So did Arthur. After all this time, he finally felt the familiar curves of her body with his. Ariadne was biting her lip, heavy lidded eyes looking over her shoulder at him. He wanted to believe this was the moment he'd been waiting for, this was the moment she suddenly confessed a forgotten love. But then she blushed tomato red and cleared her throat, cutting down to where his hands were. Disappointed, he whispered, "Look down."

When she did, there were no more stairs just an abrupt end and the ground (very, very far away.) "Woah."

"Penrose Steps. Amazing, yeah?" He stepped back away from her.

"Yeah."

xxxxxxx

He educated her in other tricks like the concept of blivets, trapdoors, hidden hallways and the like. And soon they found themselves sitting on the front steps of the building waiting for the timer. She broke the comfortable quiet, "So really, why don't you like me?"

Arthur tilted his head in a form of a shrug and gazed not at her but some businessmen across the street who waited for the signal to cross. The non-committal tone was severely invented and constructed, "I like you."

Ariadne slid a hair closer to lean forward and see his eyes but he scooted away. (The close proximity burned.) Her eyes rolled but he obviously didn't see, "Then why do you treat me like I have cooties?"

"Ariadne, we're adults." He scoffed.

"Ok…like I have Staph."

It was like her stare was drilling a hole through his skull and it became all he was aware of. Not the people in front of him or the busy streets or the honking or the chatter or the hard steps he was sitting on or that they were dreaming…just that she was looking at him. The only way to regain any senses was to give in and return her look, "It's nothing personal. I assure you. Cobb—"

"Cobb, Cobb, Cobb," she mocked. "Don't blame it on him…why would he care if you recognize my existence every once in a while?" chided the girl as she rested her arms on her knees.

Arthur rolled his totem around in his palm to avoid those orbs of hers, "He thinks I pose a dangerous threat to you." And he hated the weary way she came back at him, "Why would he think that?" He settled for, "I'm for all intents and purposes a criminal."

She seemed weirdly relieved and even laughed, "You're _all_ criminals. In fact, I'm pretty sure I'm bordering one now too." Rubbing the side of her nose with her thumb she commented, "And it's not like Dom has much room to talk. That mind of his is a whole world of danger."

The Point Man shook his head, "No, It—it's complicated. Yes, Cobb has his issues. But I have mine. He—well he and Miles—they don't want us to interact. They think that will exacerbate my problem."

Because she confused him? Ariadne's conversation with Miles popped into her head. She didn't realize her question popped out of her mouth. Not until Arthur reared back, eyes wide and stuttered, "Where did you—"

"I talked to Miles about you," confessed the girl with a grimace. "I'm sorry; I was curious."

He wasn't worried about that. He was worried about what all she knew. Had Miles revealed the root of his confusion? Did she know how he felt? Did she know he'd been watching her? He waved off her apology, "What did he say about me? What all did he tell you?!"

Ariadne's mouth was not trustworthy…geeze. Why'd she have to blurt that out? She was sure she'd offended him judging from the look she was getting, "Nothing. Just that you were lost in a dream for a while and aren't yourself and get confused. You confuse people with other people, he said."

"Oh." Arthur let out a deep breath.

"I guess I should've taken that into consideration before getting my feelings hurt about you ignoring me." She pursed her lips, followed his eye line towards the street, "I'm sorry if I make it worse."

The Point denied, "_You're_ not the problem. I greatly enjoy spending time with you. _I'm _the problem. They aren't concerned for my sake. They want me to leave you alone for your sake. They're afraid I'll—I don't know—rub off on you."

"That's stupid," stated the girl defiantly. "I'm not _that_ impressionable." Put off by the allusion that her professor (and more infuriatingly some man she just met) thought he could monitor and choose who she interacted with. "Besides, neither of them have the authority to choose who I hang out with."

Arthur re-pocketed his totem, secretly pleased with her reaction. "Miles only wants to protect you."

"Maybe he should've thought of that before he introduced us." Ariadne thought all of this was just ridiculous. The Point Man had been nothing but a gentleman to her and from the time she'd been able to spend with him both in and out of the dreams—he was tons more stable than Dominic Cobb could ever hope to be. "If he was worried about you corrupting me, he shouldn't led you straight to me. _Further_, I'm a grown woman. I'm capable of making my own judgments." And her judgment here was that Arthur was a smooth-talking, intellectual, handsome and respectful man that gave her annoying little butterflies. A tall, dark, mystery she wanted to crack open…and the new information about his mental issues only made that more enticing. What could she say? Ariadne had strange interests. The Point Man met her eyes expectantly. She guessed he was interested in her verdict. So close was his shoulder to hers, so chocolate his eyes and so intoxicating his cologne…Ariadne had a lapse in short term memory—maybe long term too. Then, creeping in the back of her mind, was the fear of her crush creating two copies of them doing intimate things in the corner again; so she fought to get rid of the attractive details of Arthur and say something else entirely. "If I want to spend time with you, what are they going to do about it?"

"Dom could fire you. Make sure you're cut off from all of this permanently." He enunciated each word to make sure she understood how serious Cobb was about looking after her. And to remind himself. Because between the lines, she said she wanted to spend time with him and it caused his head to whirl.

"No one has to know."

This was taking a wrong turn into hazardous territory. Arthur should _not _(repeat _should not_) have encouraged her. The man warned, "Ariadne—"

"You admitted you were a criminal." Her shoulder brushed against his daringly. Somewhere in the background he heard another version of himself whisper, _"I miss you…" _Ariadne didn't hear it. She was too busy suggesting, "So you should be good at not getting caught."

The dream melted away. Ariadne disappeared before he did…so the king-sized bed in the middle of the road and her voice but not her voice murmuring, "_I'm right here, Arthur,"_ wasn't something she noticed. Nor was the sleepy copy of Arthur dragging a sleepy projection of Ariadne on top of him admitting, _"Not close enough." _Only the Point Man witnessed it.

Arthur made a point to ignore Cobb's entire half of the warehouse when he woke. He wasn't in the mood for the reminder of his insanity and the guilt his best friend made him feel for it. Instead, he knelt by her chair like the first time (and the other first time) and gently pulled the needle out for her. Their breaths mingled while he held the alcoholic cleansing pad over her puncture. "I've missed that."

Darker brown cut to light. Hoping but not showing it. "What?"

Ariadne managed to pointedly look at her wrist delicately placed in Arthur's grasp. As Dom walked by, she took over the compression from Arthur and leant back in her chair so he could remove his own lead. She answered loudly for Dom, "Waking up with the timer and not from being brutally attacked by Mal."

The Point rolled the wires up and tucked them away with a secret smile, "Yeah. That is a nice feeling."  
xxxxxxx

They set up a decent system. Arthur left before Cobb did every day and Ariadne stayed after Cobb left. So when Arthur came back and walked or drove her to her flat…they were allowed time to talk. Normally it was simple small talk about the work they accomplished during the day or little questions of inquisitiveness about dream work or the logic of it all. But it was time together that they both (separately but still) secretly hungered after.

It was an addiction for Arthur. He was certain in every cell of his body, every scrap of knowledge he had, that it was the wrong thing to do but that didn't stop him. What was left of his limbo-brain couldn't help itself. It took every spare minute of her presence it could get. It soaked her up and floated in the euphoria…and then when it was over and he was on his way back to the hotel, he felt ashamed. Disappointed in himself, his morals, his selfishness. He decided he wouldn't do it again; he wouldn't put her sanity at risk again. That is, until he saw her the next night bundled up in her coat and scarf, blinking at him innocently and yet so rebelliously. Then he wasn't himself again. He was scared about the very real physical pain of withdrawal that would come from denying her a car ride or a stroll beneath the streetlights.

Ariadne wasn't sure what it was for her. Only that he was _immensely _intriguing and she couldn't get enough of it. Maybe it was the challenge of unwrapping someone hidden away from people…she wanted to know everything about him. _Everything. _But he rarely got personal. If she wanted him to talk at all she had to inquire things about work. He kept his distance stubbornly…something she vowed she'd figure how to change. It wasn't an impossible goal…The Architect had already detected that he was different around her. Sometimes. In little moments. Miles and Dom had all but confirmed it with their uneasiness.

The girl observed him as he drove. Classical music played on the radio barely audible in the space around them. She hadn't asked anything yet, being mostly exhausted from a full day of brainstorming and sketching (and re-sketching and tweaking and then re-sketching again). Arthur nearly shocked her out of her seat, "The diner in the fourth arrondissement should still be open. Want to grab a quick bite? You never ate."

Ariadne nodded. She was wide awake now.

_Can I adore you, although we are oceans apart?  
I can't make you open your heart  
But I can dream, can't I?_

xxxxxxx

Could/should we consider this diner invitation a first date? They had a little moment of heat on the Penrose Steps did they not? Things will soon unravel my friends. Trouble is on its waaaaaaaaaay. WHAT IF DOM CATCHES THEM? Lord have mercy.


	7. Breakeven

Hey again. Let's get this party started. Thank you _neverlandspirit _and _Lauraa-x _for your continued support! Even if it's just us on this journey, I feel honored to share it with you guys. I hope this chapter will keep you interested. ;)

Thank you _imabookworm815_ for following!

Things shall pick up.

**Chapter 7: Breakeven**

_What am I supposed to do,  
when the best part of me was always you?  
And what am I supposed to say  
when I'm all choked up and you're ok?  
_—The Script

"Well this is definitely against the rules."

Ariadne was referring to them having dinner together. Because if _working_ together was a big deal than doing recreational things together was the coming apocalypse. Of course the diner would be nearly cleared out at midnight. Except for travelers and people with crazy work hours like them. Which in Paris, was surprisingly slim. They got a booth by the window despite Arthur's better judgment (he felt Cobb was watching them at all times for some reason). When he was done looking at the menu, he set it up to shield them from any eyes that might be outside.

Arthur mentioned, "We _are_ criminals as you've pointed out."

"Yeah, we're so hardened," The Architect then sarcastically gestured to their separate orders, "Oatmeal and Cheerios…the population should take cover."

He humored her after blowing on his hot sludge, "Is there a specific type of breakfast food that a criminal of our stature should eat?"

Her lips pursed and she rubbed her chin in pretend thought, "They'd definitely have more meat. Lots of sausage and bacon." Or at least that's what she imagined a burly, thick accented thug would eat.

Arthur's hand lifted at the passing waitress, "Excuse moi. J'aimerais quatre ordres de saucisses et du bacon, s'il vous plait." The lady dutifully wrote the order down and went to put it in. "There we go. Our illegality is on its way."

"Perfect." Her eyes closed then she started laughing. And he started laughing. A sound she hadn't heard from him before but felt like she needed. Looked like making him laugh would be her new mission. "Why don't you joke more?"

The Point Man stirred his oatmeal around before adding more cinnamon, "Is this your way of telling me that I'm boring at work?"

Ariadne swallowed the spoonful of Cheerios than corrected, "It's my way of telling you I like your laugh."

"I like yours better," stated the man simply. Then tore himself from her gaze to consume more of his late supper. See, his laugh was just another laugh. But _her _laugh was the materialization of happiness. _Her_ laugh was what Arthur's joy sounded like.

"This isn't weird is it?" She was a talented thing, able to scoop up cereal without even looking at the bowl. She winced, not from dropping a Cheerio back in the bowl—because she wasn't aware she had—but because what they were doing registered. They were hiding away in a diner, after hours, just to what? Talk? They didn't talk about anything of substance. They just liked being in the same space. Bantering. Looking at the each other. How was that not weird?

Arthur on the other hand had to look at what he was scooping to make sure his suit stayed stain-free, "What?" Was she implying the food wasn't good? His tasted fine.

"This whole sneaking around to hang out thing," she said. Mouth full, fist slightly covering it.

Arthur swallowed and tipped his head to the side. It was a bit juvenile, wasn't it? Sneaking about like teenagers? It was uncharacteristic for both of them. The Point Man didn't break rules (let's not argue that he broke laws instead) and though Ariadne wasn't a raging rebel, the rules she did break she did in daylight. She wasn't bashful about it, she owned up to it. She didn't try to hide it like they were doing. "I wouldn't argue that it's normal…" and then took a sip of water.

"So it _is_ weird." Ariadne waved her spoon in the air before diving it back into the bowl.

"We enjoy each other's company." Arthur decided to take a respite in his consumption to get justification out, "Others worry about that…so we've created a win-win situation. We can interact and they don't have to worry. I try not to analyze the ethics or meaning of it." Her head moved from side to side, suggesting the answer sufficed, so he resumed eating.

"I want to be good friends. I want to be close. Do you do that?"

When he glanced up at her again, she was leaning forward towards him, studying him with strands of her hair closely missing a coat of two percent milk. He didn't _usually_ do that, no. But he also didn't _usually _get trapped in dreams and fall in love with projections that he happened to meet in real life either. "Yes. I'm good friends with Dom…" he pointed out.

Her frustratingly flirty eyebrows lifted, "Well I wasn't sure if he was the only exception to your robotic code."

"Har. Har." Deadpanned Arthur, but she knew she hadn't offended. Ariadne returned to her original sitting position and chased stragglers around in the milk. Her phone sitting on the table vibrated from a text but she ignored it. "If we're friends, that means you have to tell me stuff about yourself."

"Why don't _you _tell methings about you?" Arthur challenged.

"You already know it." Ariadne replied like that was the dumbest thing he could've suggested. He looked taken aback so she explained, "I'm not stupid, I know you had to do a background check on me." Her friend didn't say anything. Just sipped on his water some more. "Come on…it can be trivial things that don't really matter. Like…what was the name of your first pet?"

Arthur glared at her with mock suspicion, "That's a common security question for passwords. Are you trying to hack into my bank accounts?"

"Dang." She snapped her fingers. "You caught me." Ariadne dropped it. Their once continuous chatter became ear-ringing silence apart from the sounds of her cereal crunching. Arthur pondered the effects of telling her. What was the harm? It wasn't like he was skeptical about sharing the information with her, he'd already done it in another life. The only thing it would do would be bringing him closer to the real life version of Ariadne and that's exactly what he wanted. That's why he found her and contacted her, right?

After their waitress came, topped off their drinks and served their orders of meat, Arthur brought it up again. "It was a rabbit. Patches." The Architect was pleasantly shocked that he'd answered (one could tell). "He got loose one Thanksgiving and my cousin accidentally stepped on and crushed him."

"Oh my God," She froze in the middle of chewing her bacon, scrunched her face and let the hand that held it drop pitifully to the table, "that's horrible."

Shrugging, he defended, "You asked about my first pet."

"Its _name_. Not the traumatic death of it." Ariadne reprimanded. The Point minutely regretted relaying the death. She had a similar reaction in the dream…plus a nightmare or two. But in the dream, he'd gone into more detail. Once it soaked in and she'd put away two strips of bacon she asked, "Favorite color?"

He held up his finger in askance that she wait until he was finished chewing the sausage. "Deep dark blue." He reached for another link, "Almost navy but not quite. Or maybe a chartreuse."

"That's…" The Architect looked for the right word by nodding slowly, "very specific."

"Are you going to negatively comment on all my answers?"

"No. Sorry." This time she reached for sausage, "Where'd you meet Dom?"

The Point Man hesitated at first but ultimately found no harm in that answer either. It wasn't telling of his or Cobb's condition so,"…the University. Through Mal actually. I was a freshman. She was a junior and in my study group."

"Did you have a crush on her?" Ariadne waggled her eyebrows and graced him with a mischievous grin. The girl had seen pictures. Mal was a gorgeous woman. Someone that seemed Arthur's taste to a T. Ariadne didn't look anything like Mal aside from the facts that they both had brown hair and eyes and a petite frame. Yet she reminded Miles of Mal a lot, the old man confessed. Ariadne wondered if she reminded Arthur of Mal. If that's who he confused her with? Did he harbor hidden feelings for Mal and that's why he acted sentimental around Ariadne in ways he didn't around anyone else?

Yes…Mallory Cobb was a lovely woman. Elegant, smart, put together. His first semester in her class, Arthur was completely entranced by her even when she took him under her wing and introduced him to his now best friend. "Maybe slight at first. But her and Dom were too sickeningly sweet together for that to last." Not going to lie, he was envious of Dom and how perfect his life seemed, that he always got what he wanted including the girl. It didn't matter to him now though, he'd found his own Mal. The late Mrs. Cobb became more of a best friend and older sister as time went on. Now, while he still admitted she was beautiful, it was strange to think of her in a romantic way. Especially with the girl of his dreams sitting inches away.

Ariadne just nodded. That theory trashed for the moment. "Favorite place you've traveled?"

"Paris. Hands down." He wasted no time with that reply then as an afterthought followed up with, "Prague is a close second." Prague was the background for Arthur's first out of country job. It held special memories for him; It marked the beginning of his career.

"Why Paris?"

For a long moment, he looked at her that way that made her feel transparent but on fire at the same time. Then he looked out the window to the rainy streets and lamplights, drumming his fingers on the table. "It's the city of lights and love. Why not?"

Ariadne gazed upon the view of little shoppes and benches and the top of the Eiffel poking out over some traditionally designed French buildings. Paris was a unique place. Her question had been stupid, who wouldn't pick it as their favorite place to have the privilege of seeing. That didn't change the fact that his answer was strange to her—coming from Mr. Serious and Mr. Emotionally Stinted. They happened to look from the window and back to each other instantaneously. Ariadne's head shifted right slightly, "I would've never pegged you for a romantic."

He chortled to himself. This Ariadne had no idea, did she? No one else on the planet would've pegged him as one either until this debacle surrounding her started. Not even he would've have believed himself. Who knew that beneath all that organized steel, the Point was possibly the most hopeless of _all _the romantics? Arthur shrugged, "Well…the bread here is to die for too, so."

Ariadne giggled, "Ah, the real reason!" And nodded in agreement. She reached for another strip of bacon, sat it on her plate, then questioned bluntly, "First impression?"

"Of Paris?" he questioned back with his glass to his lips.

"Of me."

That would be tricky. In this dimension, he believed he already knew her. His first impression was _My God, it has to be my Ariadne_…but that answer would freak her out. He settled for what ran through his mind when he first "met" her in his dream, "Tiny fireball whose intellect is too sharp for her own good."

Her eyes narrowed and her tongue clicked. "I get that a lot."

Who wouldn't be curious? Who wouldn't repeat the question back to her? "What about you?"

Eyebrows furrowed. The crisp of the bacon crunched as she took yet another bite, "What about me?"

"What was _your_ first impression of _me_?" It'd been bugging him and it was the perfect opportunity to ask. What had this girl (who he was impossibly enamored with) thought upon seeing him? How did he make her feel?

After swallowing her food, she chewed on her lip, "When we were actually introduced or when you almost spilt coffee on me?"

"The very first time you laid eyes on me."

"_Laid eyes_…?" she made fun of him.

"Saw me, same thing." He felt he didn't have the time for timidity or explanation. Arthur had to know and he had to know that second or else the diner would combust into flame. "What ran through your mind?"

Ariadne frowned, "Do you want me to be painfully honest?"

He steeled himself and took a deep breath, "I'd like you to be, yes." Oh God. She was going to say she couldn't stand him. She thought he was little to be desired. She thought he was full of himself. Or worse, she was going to say she didn't feel anything. She had no opinion of him because she really didn't notice. She didn't pay attention. She was not drawn to him, she was repelled.

"I thought: this very handsome asshole almost cost me fourteen euros worth of pastries."

Arthur imitated her by narrowing his eyes and clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, "I get that a lot." Handsome was a start.  
xxxxxx

It was half past one once the bill was settled and he'd driven her back to her flat. Normally, he let her off at the curb and waited until her light came on in the window to depart. Tonight, he was a bundle of surprises wasn't he? He walked with her to her door. (He was squeezing out every possible second of this and only halfway ashamed of it.) He'd never actually been inside the building and with her personal living space so close, he felt intoxicated. Ariadne turned in front of door 528. "We should do this again. Next time I'll pay."

Without knowing what to do with them, his hands went into his pockets, "If you want to do this again, I pay again."

Her eyes rolled without malice, "You're so difficult." (He was. It took them twenty minutes to agree on who would pay. In the end, he coerced her into letting him cover it because it had been his idea.)

"It's the handsome asshole in me." Arthur shrugged. Showing his dimples.

"Well, the tiny fireball _in me _disagrees…"Ariadne wanted to hug him but with his hands in his pocket and no move in pending, she felt it was unwelcomed. So she settled for an awkward salute, "Bye Mr. Nolan."

"I hate it when you call me that." He watched her pull her key ring from her messenger and unlock her door. Her sentence bounced off the door, "Me too. It's like I'm talking to my pervy eighth grade history teacher. But…you don't teach and I'm not fourteen…"

"Nor am I pervy!" Arthur protested when she turned around, hand on the doorknob. Shit-eating grin. Ariadne was messing with him. She knew calling him Mr. Nolan bothered him and enjoyed the tease. He was fun to work up but she relented and had mercy on him, "No. You're a perfect gentleman actually. It's a nice change."

To hell with it all. Ariadne wrapped her arms around his neck and stood on her tiptoes to put her mouth by his ear, "Goodnight Arthur."

The Point Man didn't have time to pull his hands out and return the embrace. To savor the moment. To do much of anything. His utter astonishment coupled with the hard pounding in his chest rendered him paralyzed and he didn't come to until her door was almost shut. He rushed out a weak, "Goodnight," through the crack of her door and walked back to his car like a lovesick zombie. It was ridiculous.  
xxxxxxx

They did that every night. They went to the diner, ordered the usual, talked about nothing much, he'd escort her back to her door and she'd hug him goodnight with little response from him. It became routine. One the two of them thought Dom wouldn't catch on to.

"You can't be serious," Ariadne panned at Arthur. Disbelief plastered everywhere on her body.

Arthur insisted, "I am. Completely."

She took a gulp of milk and shook her head profusely, puzzled, "You wanted to be the _pink _Power Ranger? The _pink _one?"

"Their heads were covered." He claimed, "They all looked the same to me. I thought she was a man."

"A chesty man…" she chortled at him. Arthur peered but waved it off dismissively, "I was seven. I wasn't paying attention to that."

The waitress came over to top off their drinks and drop off their regular order of sausage and bacon. Ariadne thanked their server while cutting her pancakes and snickering, "Arthur in pink: I don't believe it."

"I know you've got embarrassing costume stories too." Arthur took his finger and wiped some whipped cream off her pancakes which she slapped at him for. Proudly, licking off his finger he challenged, "Come on, what was the worst?" And because she'd been eyeing it, Arthur picked up the burnt piece of bacon (she loved the burnt parts) and put it on her plate so she could claim it.

Ariadne waggled her eyebrows at the bacon and abandoned her pancakes for it, "When I was ten, I wanted to be a marshmallow. And I was." Arthur raised his eyebrows in amusements (he'd heard this before, he swore). "My parents duct taped pillows around me and then I wore cardboard on either side like graham crackers…"

The confusion was back again. How could Arthur remember something that never happened? How could he know something she'd never told him? His look of puzzlement drove her to roll her eyes, "I really loved S'mores at that point in my life, ok?" They both dropped it for different reasons and worked on cleaning their plates. A little later, after finishing the pancakes and all the burnt bacon she could process, Ariadne slid down in her seat and propped her feet up on Arthur's lap across from her. "I'm tired, Point Man."

"Let's get you home then," he rubbed her ankles through her socks a bit and then they both stood and walked to the counter to pay. By that point, Ariadne was used to him taking the bill, but she still contributed and left the tip wherever they went. It was a weekend night so more people were in and out of the diner at the odd hour the Point and Architect came. They waited behind one man, and a small family (two adults and two teenagers) for their turn.

It was one of Ariadne's more grueling days. She spent most of it under with Cobb and lord knows how emotionally and mentally exhausting that is. She counted being woken up brutally eleven times. Three of them she was drowned and two mutilated while she alive. Ariadne felt safety in Arthur's eyes across the warehouse every time it happened. As long as she could find him, she could talk herself down and head under again. The Point Man was a reassurance, a protection. A friend. The day took its toll on her. All of a sudden she was unbearably tired and she needed something soft to catch some shut eye on.

First, Arthur felt her arms skid around his waist. Then her head was on his chest, "I'm just going to go to sleep on you. Is that ok?"

"Y-yeah," choked the man. Getting emotional by the contact. By the familiarity.

As they left the diner with Arthur's hand on the small of her back—The Point felt eyes. When he looked back over his shoulder, Dom had takeout in his hands (picked up dinner on the way back to the room) and was shaking his head at Arthur. Livid. He didn't approach them but the young man knew it was coming the next morning.  
xxxxxxx

He showed up early to get it over with.

Cobb didn't have to glance up when the warehouse door opened to know who was there. He'd been waiting on the Point Man. The both of them knew it was time for words. Cobb wasn't stupid, he knew they'd been communicating but he believe Arthur had more respect for he and Miles and more concern for Ariadne than to take her to dinner and compromise everything. The Extractor stood lazily and leant against his desk as Arthur traipsed to him. "I know…" Arthur said to Cobb's disappointed stare. "I know what I'm doing Cobb. I know my limits."

"No, you don't know." Dom shook his head, "When an older, tall, dark suited man starts paying attention to a simple little schoolgirl, she's going to soak it up. Ariadne is not who you think she is. You are going to hurt her, potentially in more ways than one." He grasped Arthur's shoulder, "This can't be done. You're trying to recreate limbo in reality, Arthur. You're forcing her to develop feelings for you."

With darkened eyes and a set jaw, he corrected, "I'm not forcing her to do anything." A creak in the warehouse sounded and caused both the men to look at the door. It was nothing, the wind against the metal roof perhaps.

"You're not discouraging her." Arthur had no retorts for that. The Extractor was right and he kept scowling, kept scolding his friend with ruthlessness, "Making googly eyes, walking her home, resting your hand on _her waist_ is only making her like you more." He sneered, "But that's what you wanted, isn't it? This whole time, through this whole scheme—"

Arthur gritted his teeth, "I won't deny that I want her to feel the same. If there's _anything_ I want, I'll admit it's that."

Exasperated, Cobb rubbed his face, his greasy blonde hair falling over his forehead as he did so, "You're dragging her further into your problems. She doesn't know what kind of mental case she's growing attached to."

"What do you want me to do, Dom?!" The Point lost it. Threw his hands in the air. "I can't explain what's going on with me. I can't explain why I'm possessed by my feelings for that girl. I know this isn't me…I'm not myself…I would never in a million years care about her in my right mind but it's _out of my control_. It scared me shitless at first too but I don't belong to my own reasoning anymore. _I'm hers_. If she offers me any kind of attention…I take it."

"Saito fucked you up big time," sighed Cobb. "It's pathetic, Arthur. You don't know _real _love. You're transfixed with the _idea _of 'Ariadne: The Love That Transcends All Dimensions.' That's bullshit!" Arthur rolled his eyes at Dom and picked at the wood on the desk. Tuned him out like a teenager would his screeching father. "Look, you say you care about her _so_ deeply…but your actions only prove that you care about yourself and what you want. If you truly loved her wouldn't you put her first? Wouldn't you leave her be?"

Arthur groaned, "It's not that simple."

"What happens if this goes further? What happens if you manage to start a relationship with her and then realize it isn't what you expected? You'll break her heart. And if it turns serious, she'll find out about limbo. Everything will come out in the wash. Even if it isn't true anymore, she'll believe you only love her because you loved her projection."

Arthur opened his mouth but Cobb intervened, "What if she finds out you were stalking her?" No more was it caring and warning advice…Dom asked that question like it was an idea. An evil idea he planned on carrying out.

The Point froze, paralyzed by fear of the unknown. What_ if_ she found out? "Don't."

"I failed Miles by standing idly by while we lost Mal. I won't let him lose Ariadne. I'll do what needs to be done. I'll say what needs to be said." The door to the warehouse opened wide and grand. Jameson eyed them curiously, sensing he'd walked in on something. Cobb finished up with, "Stand down," nodding Jameson in acknowledgment as he went to write on the whiteboard.  
xxxxxxx

Ariadne received a text around lunch that same day. Arthur apologized and said he and Cobb had to go over some things in Cobb's room that night and they wouldn't be able to do their usual. She sent back that it was fine. And then he asked if she would mind if he brought by takeout afterwards. She agreed.

There they sat, surrounded by boxes of lo mein, general chicken and wontons, both still dressed in their work clothes at 2 am. They shared a hearty, belly laugh over Roger's portrayal of their mark's wife (a clueless, materialistic Bronx girl, right out of the Real Houswives) and had an in-depth conversation on whether original songs were always better than covers. Arthur argued that nothing could beat the original and Ariadne insisted that sometimes other versions could be more soulful or hit different spots. They agreed that any Elvis Presley song was best left to the King but that T.V. Carpio's version of the Beatles' I Want To Hold Your Hand was outstanding. One Love was equally good by U2 and Damien Rice. And sorry Michael Buble but Frank Sinatra can't be beat. Arthur had said on one of their many dinner's out that as a teenager, he embarrassingly loved the classic musical Grease. One Halloween when he was fourteen, he even dressed as Danny Zuko. Ariadne swore that while You're The One That I Want was iconic the way it was done, that Angus and Julia Stone's version was hauntingly beautiful. He refused, so she plugged her iPod in and played it.

Soon they were swaying together to it. His hands around her waist, hers around his neck. A devilish grin on her face because she was right and Arthur loved the cover. The Point thought to himself that maybe he just loved being with her and the self-satisfaction she emitted when she proved him wrong. He needed to tell her. Cobb wasn't making empty threats when he said he would expose Arthur's radical behavior to her and without Arthur to explain his motives, it would be detrimental to their budding friendship/something more-ship.

He contemplated how he would do it all day. It had to be done but Arthur wasn't sure where to start. And to be completely honest he was the most nervous he'd been his entire life, holding her and dreading the impending confession. It felt like pins and needles in his spine when he finally forced his mouth open, "I need to tell you something." Arthur waited for her eyes to wander up to his after the song ended, "I want you to hear it from me before Cobb or Miles use it against me."

"Ok…" Unaffected, she leaned over, turned the music off and then gave him her full attention.

Deep breaths in and out. The Point was always talented at wording things yet this was an especially fragile case. "Before we officially met at the college—" There it goes…there it goes…his throat was constricting, his blood was heating up and rushing to his head, his chest was tightening, trying to juice the emotions from his heart before she could react and bring them out of him. "I'd been watching you."

"What?" Ariadne's head titled like puppies' do when their confused. It was incredibly charming and incredibly nauseating given the idea he would have to explain further. "Like assessing my abilities or-"

His eyes closed and he blurted, "Like parking my car near places you frequent and watching you. The University, your flat…when we ran into each other outside the bakery…It wasn't chance. I was there waiting for you."

The man heard her quick shuffle away from him. He could _feel _her distance from the way his stomach hollowed out and went cold. Arthur opened his eyes to her frightened ones, "You've been stalking me?"

"I—" He took a step forward.

Ariadne stumbled four steps backwards, eyes wide, "Oh my God! Get out!" Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit, oh _shit. _Everyone had warned her about Arthur's issues and she was like 'oh, he's fine. He's nice to me.' Sure, he was nice. He wanted to lure her in. Good job Ariadne. Arthur's 'little' issues were probably compulsive rape or something. He was so perfect and debonair, why'd he have to turn out creepy?

Her pursuer sighed, "Aria—"

"Get out, you pervert!" The word 'pervert' hit him harder than the throw pillow chucked at his head had.

"Let me explain and then I'll leave." Arthur tried to reason with her reluctant form. All she did was shake her head and point at the door. Well, he saw her eye the knife holder on the kitchenette's counter once too. "It'll make sense, please." He took the firearm out of his holster, tossed it to the couch and backed up with his hands above his head in surrender, "You can point my gun at me if you'd feel safer."

The Architect glared hard at him but inched towards the couch. She never looked at the gun. She kept her sight trained on his every move skeptically. When she reached the back of the couch her hand shot out like a cobra and grabbed the gun, switched the safety off and aimed between his eyes. "You have five minutes."

"Okay." He seemed relieved. Why did he seem relieved when she was pointing a gun at him? Shit, it was Arthur. He probably had more than one. He could afford to give her a gun and she stupidly gave him something she couldn't afford—her trust. Even if it was technically only lended and only briefly. Ariadne stood still, hands sort of shaking despite herself, and watched him begin to pace around in her living area.

"Miles told you I got lost in a dream, correct?" Ariadne nodded stiffly. She was almost positive getting lost in limbo had something to do with Mal's death. Cobb's wife was a maniac…what happened to her, happened to Dom and Arthur too. They were all maniacs. She insisted to work with maniacs. What were you thinking, Ariadne? You could be loaded down in boring paperwork from a cute little firm an hour outside the city. Oh, if she wanted to know what was wrong with him she should probably listen…"See, we had performed a job on a Mr. Saito and due to a faulty architect, we failed." Serial killer. He was a serial killer. He had harbored anger towards architects and wanted to kill them all…Ariadne gripped the gun tighter, "The mark found out what we were doing, who we were and hunted us down and ambushed us before we could sneak out of the country. He forced us under and tampered with our totems to get us lost. Cobb woke up before me, they dumped him into the trash in the alleyway and it provided a kick—"

"What does any of that have to do with me?" Her eyes darted all over him like it would be written on his features and suddenly make sense.

"Projections. Remember where they come from? The ones you don't really recognize?" Arthur had to work to keep cool despite the urgency to make her understand in the three minutes he had left. She looked spooked, and kept checking the clock for second by second updates on his time left. He tried not to panic and ramble. He struggled to find a path of explanation that was easy to follow. He didn't want to make this worse by confusion or wrong word choice.

To Ariadne, this man was jumping all over the place. Did he have a point? Was he having a breakdown? Maybe she should call someone. She eyed the phone on the side table across the room, "Yeah. Your subconscious picks people up. Random faces you see on the street or acquaintances. It stores them and recreates them to populate the dream. That was our first lesson."

"Yes. Well, last year during Christmas break weren't you over as Stephen's when Dom dropped some presents off?" The moment of truth was coming. Arthur clenched his hands in his pockets.

Ariadne's head shook back and forth, thinking furiously while staring at the ground. Where was she? She _was _at Miles'. How did he know? Was he spying on her even then? "….Yeah….yeah, I was. And I remember Dom but—" Think. The blonde came in and rushed to the bathroom. He was sputtering about a job and asking frantic questions about Miles' grandchildren, James and Philippa. She was mixing the salad in the kitchen, adding in tomatoes and diced boiled eggs when another man walked through the door holding two big brown bags of toys. Wait— "No, wait. The guy with the toys." Arthur. It was definitely him. Taunting pitch black three piece suit, stony face and all. He stopped in the doorway of the kitchen expecting either or both of the other men to be there and when they weren't, he and Ariadne made awkward eye contact. He bowed his head to excuse himself and she delved into slicing olives. "That was you?" She asked anyway.

"Correct." Good. Good sign. She remembered, that would make this easier to grasp.

"Have you been stalking me since then?!"

"No! God, no. See in that split-second that I saw you, my mind gathered every detail it could unbeknownst to me. You became a projection in the dream I was stuck in." At this point, Ariadne's fright faded into complete befuddlement. And while it was obvious she comprehended it, she was working to believe it. The gun in her hand faltered in time with her mouth falling open. But she hadn't seen _him _in any of her dreams. She completely forgot about him…

"You and I—" Less than two minutes on the clock, he pushed through, "I dreamt we were together. We met on an impossible job for Cobb and fell in love. We had a very serious relationship, knew each other inside out." She was staring at him like a deer in headlights, She's stopped blinking, "Then one day I woke up on Miles' couch and everything, all of it had been a dream. And I felt insane because I was head over heels for someone who didn't exist. And then I saw your picture and when you turned out to be a _real _existence…I had to see you. I had to observe and note any differences to make sure you weren't her." Thankfully, Arthur saw the second that it all clicked. And with relief of his own, watched relief flood into her. The girl was still shocked but no longer afraid for her life which was nice.

Her eyebrows furrowed, "So that's why I always feel like that when you're around."

"Like what?" The Point held his breath.

"Like you're judging me," stated the Architect, honestly. "Critiquing me and coming up wanting. It's because you're constantly comparing me to her." The Point could only imagine all the ideas and questions and notions running through her brain. He suspected she would ask if it was normal. Questions about the projection. But she asked warily, "Do you still watch me?"

"No. No, I swear. That stopped once we had lunch." And just to clarify, Arthur added, "And I never saw anything I shouldn't. It doesn't justify it by any means but I am truly sorry."

"I don't exactly forgive you for the invasion of privacy…" Her arms crossed, lips pursed, "but I sort of understand why you felt the need to…"

He let out that breath he held and beseeched, "I respect you, Ariadne. And I would never hurt you."

"It's strange but I know." Looking at him, she took a beat to steel herself and then carefully set the gun down. "I have this weird innate feeling that I can trust you." Her gaze flickered back and forth between him and the weapon, "I hope I'm not crazy. Or stupid."

"Trust me," he laughed, "you're probably the most normal of all of us." Arthur felt liberated. Like the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. It was such a relief that she knew and understood (better than Cobb). She disturbed his inner peace with:

"You said dream 'us' met on an extraction job…" Ariadne, feeling comfortable again, rounded the sofa.

"Yes."

"Is that why you contacted me?" Her eyes bore into him with laser like precision. Ariadne wasn't accusing him with her intonation but she might as well have been Dom in that moment. "Are you trying to recreate that?"

"I—" Damn. That was a question he hadn't suspected (and hoped she wouldn't) ask. Because he didn't really know himself. Dom posed the accusation and it certainly felt like that's what he was doing but he'd never—he'd never thought that Ariadne might think that. "I suppose it's possible that could be a subconscious ulterior motive. All I was aware of was that whoever you were, I needed to meet you."

The Architect's head reared back slowly in the first half of a nod. During the second half, her eyes narrowed at him. "Well, what do you think?"

His head turned. Not sure what she was wondering, "What—"

"What's your verdict? Am I like her?" Her head tilted and she stepped directly in front of them. As close to him as she was when they were dancing but without touching him. "I mean obviously the name and the face but—"

Ariadne's orbs were made up of a zealous curiosity but a coy challenge looking up at him. "It's scary how accurate. Sometimes you'll look at me and for a moment I'll believe we're—" what, Arthur? In love? In limbo? All illusions that the dream could've been real were just shattered by her questions. They couldn't be in love. In limbo. He explained everything and she still had no different a feeling than before about him. They weren't in this together. Arthur was in this alone. "My five minutes are up. I'll see myself out. 8:30, Monday, Cobb wants to see the first level in action."

The Point Man smiled politely, hiding his inner turmoil. His hidden disappointment that she didn't miraculously go… 'oh! Saito kidnapped me too! We were in the dream together. I remember…' Quickly, he slid the gun back into his holster, shrugged his jacket on and grabbed his briefcase. The faster he got away from her muddled and pitying gaze, the better. "Arthur?"

He stopped at the door. Head hung down. Embarrassed…but that didn't show when he pivoted at her request. "How did you wake up?" She traipsed to him, studying. Like he was now a math problem she could figure out. He was sure Ariadne was using this newfound knowledge against him. That she was vindictive and her eyelashes batted just to dig at him. "When did you realize?"

Arthur avoided her penetrating stare. Sighed. "We were celebrating our first year anniversary—the projection and I, obviously—and on the way home a car collided into us." The Point heard air rush through her lungs. He dared to look back at her and saw even more pity than before (more than he thought possible). "I think she died on impact. I shot my arm out to guard her, I kept her from going through the windshield but I think her head went through the side window." Ariadne's eyes grew and then she winced; no doubt she was putting herself in the scenario. Because after all it was her face and body it had happened to. "Her hair was bloody, both sides of her nose bleeding, a cut across her neck where the seatbelt had cut." He felt his eyes misting over and cursed them for doing so where she could see. "Funny," Arthur quipped and courageously tucked a hair behind her ear. He let it linger like he was looking at the Ariadne he didn't get to say goodbye to. "I wished that I would die if she was dead. She must've been because I got my wish. Because as they were pulling me out of the car away from her, everything went black." He pulled away from her. "Then I was on Miles' sofa…and my Ariadne never existed."

"She _does_ exist."

"Yes. But she doesn't love me." Her gaze didn't waver but she didn't correct him either. Why would she? Ariadne was sad for him and he couldn't take it. Arthur's mouth formed a thin line, "8:30." And he was gone.

It was a lot to take in. Anyone would feel overwhelmed. All of this dream stuff was enough to deal with…then to find out her co-worker dreamt her (but not really her) up and thought he was in love with her. Which should be sort of exciting considering she was attracted to him. But the fragility of the human mind scared her. His story scared her. Because he hadn't questioned his reality and look what happened…and now she was questioning hers. Could her existence be a figment of someone else's imagination? Ariadne shuffled to the bathroom and stared into the mirror. Hard. She looked tired and that was an understatement.

"AGH!" Ariadne hissed, and doubled over the sink. A sharp pain dragged across her upper body and only magnified when she touched it. It stung. A deep, dark red line seeped through the top of her shirt. Hastily, the woman yanked her shirt off then reached up and undid her scarf, let it fall into the sink. No…how could—

The Architect tripped over herself to get to her bedroom, crawled across her bed and fumbled for her totem. It fell normal…it fell as it should but…Ariadne snatched the totem up and went back to her bathroom. It was still there. But it wasn't there that morning or the morning before. Or ever. Ariadne hadn't remembered how she got it.

That cut across her neck where a seatbelt would've been.

_I'm falling to pieces.  
I'm falling to pieces._

xxxxxxx

And now my friends the _real _confusion and twists shall begin. I'm sorry it takes me so long to set up stories. I know some of you are bored! But I'll fix that, I promise! Review and share your theories on this revelation…


	8. Any Other World

Thanksies: _neverlandspirit: _yes, wasn't the date cute? Lol. Well thanks. I was getting worried it might be for a while. _Lauraa-x: _yeah girl. If you thought these guys were crazy before…lookout. Mm there are so many things that could be going on. Of course I can't tell you. But I can say there is one person absolutely firm in their belief about what's reality and what's not and they are correct. Whether that's Dom, Ariadne or Arthur I can't say. They're all in different headspaces though. They're all thinking different things. _Kamarooka: _Thank you =) really, I appreciate that. I think all writers have doubts. Exactly. A lot of feedback are saying Dom's sort of the bad guy and yeah…while he's an obstacle to our pair getting together he really is just looking out for both of them and he sees no other way to do it but be stern and frank about it. Besides, he's going through all that crazy Mal shit at the same time so give him a break. Can't wait to see what you think of this chapter…_Midnight the Black Fox: _Thanks, thanks! Let's see how many flips your mind does this time ;)

Favorites and Followers! Truly honored. Love you guys: _FireDraken _(AFave, AFollow), _kamarooka _(SFave, SFollow), _StoryLover95 _(SFave, SFollow), _brianbp4f _(AFave, SFave, SFollow).

**Chapter 8: Any Other World**

_Take a bow, play the part  
of a lonely, lonely heart.  
Say goodbye to the world you thought you lived in. __  
_—Mika

Ariadne woke up the next day feeling like she was hit by a train. That was due to staying up half the night wondering about the cut beneath her collar bones. She did what any person in that situation would do—she put Neosporin and a bandage on it, made some tea and sat in bed with her laptop, googling WebMD for 'sudden materialization of injuries'. When the alarm clock screeched she swatted at it to turn it off and sluggishly tread to the bathroom. She needed to hop in the shower but debated sticking her head in the sink and being done with it. Out of curiosity (and thinking she might need to change it out), Ariadne peeled the bandage off of her wound to inspect it.

And nothing was there.

Not a scratch, not a mark. Just her pristine skin…smooth and spotless. It wasn't even sore to the touch. Ariadne lifted the bandage; surely there was evidence there. Last night the cut was red and angry and bled through her shirt. But no, nothing. The bandage was wrinkled from her tearing it off but that was it. Had she imagined the whole thing? Did Arthur's revelation just rock her that convincingly that she saw something that wasn't there? But it hurt! Didn't it? She couldn't remember anymore…the stinging sensation was too far away now, having slept without it. 'Pain is in the mind' isn't that what Dom said all those times she sought comfort as she was being torn to shreds and only given riddles and ignorant eyes? Ariadne was terribly exhausted the night before. Had been for several consecutive nights that week. Maybe she was hallucinating from lack of rest? That was completely possible. Or maybe the supplements she was taking to give herself energy were having negative effects? Ariadne side-eyed the bottle of pills sitting by her face wash on the sink and quickly twisted the cap off and dumped them down the toilet. Last time she bought anything from the health foods store down the street. Satisfied that it was a silly, harmless scare, the Architect hopped in the shower and readied for work.  
xxxxxxx

He hadn't noticed her when she walked in. No, that was a lie. He had. But after the embarrassing and self-deprecating admission to her the night before, he ignored her to avoid the pity stares. He loathed those. Why did Arthur have to go into so much detail with her? He explained the reason for his confusion and confessed that he had a relationship with her in his dream but did he need to expand on how much he loved her? Did he need to tell her that in the dream he would've rather died than lose her? How serious it was? For her not to feel the same was enough to crush him, he didn't need her obligatory sympathy rubbing salt in the wound. Arthur was not too tenderhearted a man…but when he got back to his hotel room that night, he did mix a few of his tears with the vodka in his glass. He wished he'd never seen her that day in Miles' house. He should've stayed in the car and let Dom run out and haul the presents inside himself. That way he would've never seen her, never had her milling around in the murky shadows of his subconscious and he _never _would've felt this torn in two.

Ariadne picked up coffee for the Team that morning so she bypassed his efforts of distance by bringing the coffee to his desk personally. To say the air between them was uncomfortable to breathe was an understatement. Her hand rubbed her other elbow purposelessly after she set the cup down, "Morning," she offered. Her tone lighter than usual to force a sense of ease (more for his sake than hers).

Arthur slid the coffee closer with an appreciative smile and looked immediately back at his screen, "Good Morning." Awkwardly, the girl hung around instead of traipsing off like he expected. The Point Man was aware of what stats needed to be typed but the numbers weren't matching up in his head. Nothing was actually. He would go to punch in a series of letters or numbers and forget them as his fingers touched the keys. She was claiming his brain power.

"What're you up to?" asked the girl.

Arthur made sure not to make eye contact, "Working on a spreadsheet and then finding some security footage for Jameson to look over and study the subject from."

"Nice." The conversation came to another halt but she didn't move. Her lips pursed and twisted to the side and out of his peripherals, he could see her thumbing through some of the files on the corner of his desk. Not nosily, she wasn't even truly looking at them. She was focused on something inside her head. Her wheels were turning. Arthur's fingers grazed over the keys to no avail again so he gave in, asking, "Is there something you need to say?" Because as long as Ariadne stood there and he could smell the coconut body wash she used that morning, he was useless.

Once he'd asked, once she had permission, Ariadne was fine. Gone was the nervousness as she rose up to sit on his desk. Arthur looked around to see if anyone was watching but she spoke and his attention was immediately diverted. Ariadne looked down at him, "I genuinely like you. A lot…" He nodded once, keeping his poise intact. Wincing, with something akin to guilt she admitted, "I don't _love_ you," and cleared her throat. Arthur had to drop eye contact. He had to do something with his hands, he had to— he had to do anything to keep from shriveling from the inside out. He coolly grabbed his cuppa joe and stared hard into the liquid as he stirred it. "But disregarding all the other—circumstances—I feel like we've gotten pretty close and I don't want that to change. I want to stay close. Maybe…get closer…I like meaning something to you." Ariadne's voice dropped down to a whisper in time with her gaze dropping to her lap (though Arthur couldn't see what she was doing, he was glued to his drink). "And I think you're starting to mean something to me." Just like his hopes, he couldn't let his eyes rise too high. They flickered from rim of his cup to the top of his laptop. "But at the same time— I can't be _her _for you. I can't compete with her."

Confused, though he should've known, he swiveled his chair to completely face her, "Who?"

"You're perfect version of me." Ah yes, his projection. Matter-of-factly, the Architect continued, "I'm going to say something or do something you don't like and you'll compare me to your projection. You already do. She'll always be better. You imagined her how you _want me_ to be."

The Architect sounded as if it wasn't a big deal to her but the glimmer in her eyes told him different. Told him that she knew he had her on some kind of pedestal and that she would dash his high expectations of her. "The perfect version of you is looking at me right now. My projection loses by default because _you're_ the _real_ thing. I—" Arthur stopped and surveyed the rest of the building first. Roger was out getting more vials, Jameson was eating lunch and ignoring them (his ears were plugged up to his mp3) and Cobb was under. Arthur rolled the chair closer, he deliberated on resting his hand on top of hers but ended up resting it beside instead. Just this tip of his thumb nail touching the side of her pinky. "I was enchanted by you the moment I saw you. My subconscious just picked up on that and indulged me in the dream. I don't care what we were down there. Who I _thought_ you were."

Ariadne gave him a doubtful look despite his persevering, "I want who you _are_. I want to discover _you_."

The girl blinked while she processed and touched the edge of her scarf in thought, "Last night after you left, I had this cu—"

In the back of the warehouse, Cobb propelled off his seat and knocked the PASIV over accidentally. The lead was ripped from his arm so roughly, it bled more than it was supposed to. Heaving, the Extractor grabbed his head and leaned forward, rocking, "Leave me alone, Mal! I fixed this! Why won't you leave me alone?!" Ariadne realized her mouth was agape and closed it after looking across at Jameson, who stood warily with the sandwich frozen by his mouth, one earphone dangling. Cobb fumbled in his pocket for the totem and set it down to twirl it—when he looked up at Ariadne and Arthur staring at him. He snatched it up and marched to the bathroom.

The Point twisted back to her when he felt soft fingers graze over and rest on top of his. He liquefied. This was being in love. How could it not be? How could his feelings be false when they felt this pure? It wasn't just the projection he felt this way about…in fact, the sensations of unconditional love hit him more potently in reality. He didn't think that was possible. Especially, for him to fall further amidst the lack of reciprocity. Arthur didn't expect to see Ariadne's eyes welled up with tears, gazing remorsefully and concerned upon him, "I don't haunt you like that, do I?"

"No." His line of sight ventured down to look at their hands. Touching (but not entwining) out of comfort, not out of affection. "You torture me in other ways."

She followed his eyes down and realized she was exacerbating the issue by her gesture. Her hand pulled away like he was a hot stove top. Jameson called Arthur over, to ask about a certain picture. As Dom came out of the restroom, Ariadne grabbed a file from Arthur's desk like that's what she was there for and booked it to her desk.

xxxxxxx

Ariadne lifted her head from the model to listen to Roger attentively. "So the parapets wrap around _here_ but not here?" Nodding she replied expertly, "Exactly. It's the only way to create the illusion. Don't forget that trap door though or we'll be screwed."

"Trap door. Got it."

"Why don't you take a minute and look over it again?" suggested the girl, "See if you have any more questions or if there's something you'd like to add or omit." Jameson peered at the model with hands on either side, his eyes running through the etched out pathways like he himself was running through them. Ariadne hated when people breathed down her neck, so she sidestepped and gave him space. Reread over the list of bullet points she made to make sure she'd touched on everything. Blivets? Check. Parapets? Check. Change to third arm of maze? Check. Trapdoor? Check. Deletion of arm seven of maze?

"_Do you know what it's like to be a lover?"_

The whisper sent an eerie chill down the chords of Ariadne's spine. She shot a look of disbelief towards Roger, "Excuse me?"

Deadpanning, the chemist answered, "What?"

"The hell was that kind of question?" spat the Architect.

"I haven't said anything." His eyes narrowed curiously but he waved her off and went back to studying the model.

No he hadn't said anything, had he? The whisper sounded like a woman's voice. A familiar woman's voice filled with French accent. French accent and malicious intention…Cobb's wife? Her totem conveniently sat by her knuckles and she could tip it with little enough movement that Roger wouldn't suspect anything. It fell normal. She searched for Dom in the warehouse. He was fine. Standing at the whiteboard, erasing yesterday's conflicts and writing new goals and deadlines. On her eyes' way back to her checklist, she caught sight of a window she hadn't noticed before—and did a double take. It was wide open which was strange considering the team's need for secrecy. Anyone could pop by that window and she what they were up to. The breeze blew in and made the sheer golden curtains billow and wave. Wave like they were waving at the Architect, saying hello. They hadn't had those curtains there before today. Ariadne would've noticed the splash of color in their otherwise monochrome workspace. What was even more peculiar was the night sky peeking in at them. Hadn't she checked her watch about five minutes ago? It was barely 3 pm then. _Do you know what it's like to be a lover? To be half of a whole? _The whisper brushed the hair on the back of her neck again. Ariadne leaned closer over the desk, squinting. There was a silhouette forming a shadow on the curtains.

A hand waved in front of her face, "Earth to Ariadne…Ariadne."

"Sorry." The aforementioned shook her head and pointed behind her with her thumb, "Has that window always been there?" She watched the Chemist glance over her shoulder and back at her, "What window?"

Ariadne spun around to find the window disappeared. Roger commented, "I think someone needs sleep. Maybe you should ask Cobb to go home early today."

Staring still at the empty space on the wall, she agreed, "Yeah. I've only had a collective ten hours in three days. That's probably a good idea."

xxxxxxx

Sleep was _absolutely _the key Ariadne needed. Cobb let her go home at four once the model was officially confirmed complete. Roger would need the rest of the afternoon and better part of the next morning to memorize the layout anyways. The Architect got home around 4:36, ate some cereal and crawled straight into the sack. With a total of fifteen hours of sleep that night, she woke up refreshed and renewed like the Energizer Bunny. Exactly as she'd been the first few weeks of dream training.

She breezed into the warehouse right on time for the morning meeting, all smiles. Iced coffee in one hand, notebook in the other. She had all kinds of brainstorm webs and doodles from the train ride over to share. Cobb opened up the briefing talking about the impressive progress of the group then turned it over to her to ask about the advancement of Level 2. "I was going to bring that up, actually. I wanted to get everyone's view on a slight adjustment?" Her and Arthur locked eyes; he encouragingly opened his palm to the center to signal her to continue. "I know we initially decided on a bar but I was thinking we change it to a casino instead. It's the same kind of place but I could fit everything we need into a casino and still make it look realistic, whereas cramming it all into the space of a small pub or bar would look forced. I trialed the bar yesterday morning and it seemed off, quite frankly."

Dominic was all for it. Thus far, every time Ariadne suggested something she was right in doing so and it only improved the dreamscapes. His concern wasn't her judgment it was whether she'd have ample time. "Would it be too complicated this far along?"

"I've already played around with it and put together some sketches," the woman handed her book to Dom to flip through. He took it and she sat back, switching which foot crossed over the over, "so it's essentially the same amount of work. We can keep the maze just—"

Ariadne's words cut off when her head swiveled. The noise of glass breaking from her right side caught her attention. She searched for the source, confused and found a broken wine glass by her foot. The team looked at her like she sprouted five heads when she reached for the ground and grabbed the air. As soon as her fingers brushed against the glass it was gone. Did the others see it? No. But they all acted alarmed at her behavior. "Sorry. Where was I?"

Arthur raised his eyebrows from across the circle. "You said: we can keep the maze…"

She snapped her fingers, "Oh! We can keep the maze just—"

_Do you know what it's like to be a lover?_

Ariadne had to blink emphatically to get the woman's words out of her head. Everyone saw her strange actions and her two hands shove into her pockets but only the Point Man picked up on her right hand wringing something inside the pocket. Her totem perhaps. Persevering to the finish, Ariadne continued, "All we need to do is change the interior design. Which I hadn't thought up for the bar anyway."

"Perfect. It's settled then," the Extractor handed her notebook back and pulled the whiteboard forward to go over other issues.

xxxxxxx

Arthur and Ariadne stood in the lowlight of her desk lamp while she packed up for the day. Dom had been lenient about them conversing during work hours—what could he do about that? But he stayed and watched them like a hawk until they left. The blonde was currently propped up against the door with jacket folded over his arm and phone in hand checking the time. Arthur watched as she zipped her pencil and pen case and stuck it in her messenger. Then he put his suit jacket over her shoulders (it was starting to get chilly during the nights now and she left her cardigan at home). "Are you _sure_ you're alright?"

"_Yes_, Arthur," swore the woman.

With one hand on the desk for leverage he leaned down to meet her eyes, "Because to hell with Cobb. If you need me, I'll—"

"I know." Her halfhearted smile didn't reassure him in the least. Especially when fled from her face along with the color. The Architect stiffened and grabbed at her jean pocket, feeling the chess piece through the material.

"_I know who you are. What are you doing here?" _There wasn't a window. There was nowhere for those same billowy golden curtains to be flowing from and yet, she saw them in front of her face. Her own voice whispered, terrified, _"I'm just trying to understand…" _ Her brown eyes squeezed shut as she rubbed them and when she opened them again, the voices were quiet and the drapes were non-existent.

Having witnessed nothing but Ariadne getting increasingly jumpy, he knew something was going on psychologically and that it must have some kind of connection to his revelation. Arthur tried to pull it out of her. "Ari…what—"

The darkness interrupted him when the girl shut of her desk lamp emphatically. "I'm just tired."

xxxxxxx

"I pulled a bunch of these pictures from Biloxi and Vegas to give you some ideas for the Casino." The Point Man dropped off a binder of glossy photos highlighting the features of different venues.

Looking up from a mess of foam board, cardboard shavings and extra hot glue sticks galore, Ariadne thanked him and went merrily on cutting and piecing together. When Arthur took a seat in her chair to observe, she figured he was there for dialogue. "Are we going to go to the diner tonight?" She made sure Dom was still taking the client's phone call before she asked. "We haven't gone in a few days."

"If you'd like. I'd love to take you."

With all the bizarre occurrences and the terrifying thought that this job was making her lose her mind, The Architect was looking forwards to something normal again. To their unique conversations, to laughing until her belly hurt. She flashed him a smile over her shoulder.

And was immediately blinded by car headlights.

She reacted like you react when you try to look directly at the sun. She recoiled, squinted. The blaze of the lights and their high beams left circles of blue on the inside of her eyelids. "Ariadne?" Arthur stood at attention. Ariadne literally could not see anything but spots; It was instinct to move her hand to shield her eyes, she'd just forgotten the exacto-knife was in her possession and her other hand was rested on top as she pulled from under it. "AGH!" Ariadne yelped, dropping the exacto knife and clutching the wrist attached to the palm sliced open. With her doubled over, blood gushed onto the desk. "Shit, shit, shit," she hissed in pain and anxiety as she fought to push her model back and protect her beautifully carved wall segments from vermillion.

Thinking fast, Arthur loosened and yanked his tie off to wrap it around her palm without hesitation. "Hold it tight, to slow the bleeding." He then called Roger and ordered him to bring the first aid kit. Taking her shoulders, Arthur sat her down in the chair and knelt by the side. "Just breathe. Try not to think about the pain. Focus on something else."

Brown. Arthur's eyes were chocolate brown. Warm, like the gooey center of a chocolate chip cookie. Hard around the edges but soft for her. His eyes were the epitome of security. Looking into his eyes, no matter what she was safe. Nothing was as bad as it seemed. Nothing hurt as much as it was supposed to.

"Damn, girl, performing surgery over here?" The Chemist poured alcohol over his hands and instructed her to move the tie. Her entire palm was stained a bright red, fresh blood oozing from the slice. She didn't take a peek to avoid freaking out and remembering how much pain she was dealing with. She kept her eyes locked on the Point Man's. Ariadne winced when Roger wiped it clean again and fidgeted when he poured alcohol on it. "Looks like you're going to need stitches. About five." Already, the man fished a needle and threading from the kit.

Ariadne groaned, "Please, just get it over it with," and then grabbing Arthur's hand without warning declared, "Alright if I crush the bones in your hand?"

_Two sets of wrinkly hands—one larger set, one smaller—squeezed and rested against…what was that? A ladder? A—no, train tracks. Two sets of wrinkly hands were holding on to each other for dear life on a set on train tracks. "I'll tell you a riddle. You're waiting for a train…"_

Curtains. The curtains were back and they were swaying and covering up Arthur's face. And yet, Arthur wasn't there. There was a window and the lights of skyscrapers and the sounds of traffic. And there was a silhouette of a woman sitting on the ledge. But unlike the scene she witnessed in Dom's subconscious one night after following him under, it wasn't Mal's shadow. It was shorter, with longer hair…and a red coat.

Glass breaking. There was glass by her feet._ "I'm just trying to understand." _

"Understand what, Ariadne?" First, the Architect was staring straight through him at what he looked behind and saw was only a wall, a broken light fixture and some boxes. Then her attention shot to her feet and she was talking to herself. A sentence that made no sense. That came out of nowhere. He squeezed her limp hand to capture some responsiveness. The woman did look up but not at him. Over his shoulder.

Only Ariadne saw her. Slender, tall, piercing greyish blue eyes. Malevolence in a long black dress. _"How could you understand? Do you know what it's like," _the hallucination ran her fingernail from Arthur's earlobe to the collar of his shirt, _"to be a lover? To be half of a whole?" _Ariadne looked on in horror. Did Arthur not realize that woman was there? Did no one else see her? Feel her wicked, taunting presence? No, the Point was too busy squeezing the Architect's hand and moving his mouth (she couldn't hear what was coming from it. Just her heartbeat and eerie whispers about love.)

Finally he broke through the thick haze, "ARIADNE."

In a blink, Mal was gone. The fuzz in her ears crackled into the sounds of everyday life: The hum of the air conditioning, Jameson standing over them (when did he show up?) asking what the hell happened, Cobb straining to speak above the commotion on the phone in the corner. And the pain was back. Sharp and shooting through her hand, up her arm, to the pit of her stomach as the needle pierced through her.

The world tells you dreams come true. They just don't tell you that nightmares are dreams too. And they slip into your reality more often than you could imagine.

xxxxxxx

Dom was not pleased. At least it wasn't her dominant hand but still. He tended to blame Arthur for distracting her; he blamed Arthur for just about everything nowadays. Cobb couldn't get a handle over his own mental problems so he took it out on his best friend. He coped by using Arthur's crazy as a crutch, by making himself feel like the saner of the two.

Ariadne didn't eat much at the diner. She merely shared their regular sausage and bacon order with Arthur and had nothing else but sprite. The woman did her best to avoid any type of topic that could segue into the events from earlier that day. Anything to do with work and dreams and the warehouse (which she normally couldn't discuss enough) was outlawed. She kept guiding their chat into directions like good movies that were out or her baby cousin learning to walk, or their favorite summer activities at children.

Finally, Arthur had enough of appeasing her by dancing around the subject and interrupted in the middle of her babbling about her grandmother's garden in Texas. "What's going on, Ariadne?" She was stubborn enough to give him a look of incredulousness, as if she'd no idea on earth what he could possibly be referring to. "What happened earlier? What happened yesterday?"

For stalling's sake, Ariadne took a long swig of her Shirley Temple. Nonchalant, she shrugged, "Nothing."

The man pushed his plate aside and leaned forward, arms on the table, "Tell me. You're seeing things. You're hearing things, aren't you? It's not unusual. It happens to everyone when they start out."

Well that made her feel a little bit better. Enough to meet his eyes in a way that silently confirmed his assumptions. Arthur kept explaining. Their dinner turned into a mini lesson (not that Ari minded. She craved knowledge). "When you're not used to lucid dreaming and then get thrust into hours and hours of it a day, your mind gets confused. It adjusts by blurring the lines of sleep and awake until it can properly differentiate your control during lucid dreaming and your control during reality. That's probably why you feel like you can't get enough sleep no matter how much you get. Lucid dreaming feels like you're awake more than natural dreaming does. So your mind defaults to awake almost constantly for a while."

She nearly collapsed from her monumental sigh of relief, "So I'm _not _going insane?"

"You're not turning into any of us, no," chuckled Arthur. "You're just a newbie." He gave some of his experiences to ease her about it further. "I kept seeing tennis balls lying around—I played it in school—and smelled my grandmother's apple pie. I kept hearing my dad telling me to wash the dishes."

Those all sounded pretty innocent and light to Ariadne. Nothing like hers. Hers were not so harmless. So she asked about Dom. Surely that psycho saw some freaky shit. "Oh, he said he heard bowling pins being knocked over sometimes and whistles from soccer practices. He saw his first car—some blue Mazda—sitting in parking lots and buildings all over the place." He selected two strips of burnt bacon and put them on her plate with a smirk, "You'll probably see a lot of familiar objects placed randomly and hear things from your childhood that were repeated a lot. Maybe smell something that has real sentimental memory connection—like S'mores. I know it's bizarre but trust me, it's nothing to be apprehensive or scared of. It's nothing like what Mal went through or what Dom and I are currently working out. Your brain is responding normally. Ok?"

"Ok." The girl nodded.

"At least you're not hallucinating false memories and seeing shades like me. When you start seeing _people_ and hearing riddles then you should be worried."

Ariadne forced a hiccup of a laugh and swallowed. So she should be worried…

xxxxxxx

A day or two later, Ariadne and Dom went under to look at the rough draft for the Casino level. There was no set interior design as of yet. It was a blank canvas like they were shrunken down to the size of action figures and walking around inside one of her models. The two agreed upon inserting an air duct system to cut through the maze with access from a trap door hidden near one of the elevators on the third floor. Very rare but very luckily, they woke with the timer without any acknowledgment from the projections and without his ex-wife crashing the party. Everything about her day was running smoothly. No visions, no voices, no confusion, no violent kick associated with a gory death by projections. Dom was faster at taking his lead out and coiling the tubing from years of practice, "Good work. Once you add the duct system I think you can go ahead and start teaching it to Jameson."

"Yeah," she nodded pleasantly, "And that won't take like any time at—"

So much for a smooth day. The air rushed out of her lungs. Knocked out in a split second. She gasped but nothing came. It felt like there was no air, like the oxygen was sucked out of the atmosphere. Wheezing, Ariadne began to panic. Her lungs were heaving but she couldn't breathe. Dom tossed the rest of the tubing at the PASIV and hopped over his lawn chair to grab her arm and attempt to assess what was happening. That caught the attention of the Point Man from across the warehouse. At the sight of Ariadne hunched over, grabbing her throat and Dom's wide worried eyes flickering over the room, Arthur pushed out of his seat and practically ran. No not practically. He sprinted. Jameson and Roger were out picking up lunch for everyone, there was no other assistance to be had. Their medic was out. Arthur had enough training to perform certain procedures but he didn't know what was wrong. "She can't breathe!"

"What did you do?!" Arthur growled at Dom.

"Nothing! We woke with the timer; She was completely fine!"

"Did she choke on something?"

The two men were standing right on top of her but they sounded miles away. Sound was drowning out. There was nothing but her heartbeat and she could feel it pounding against her head. Could feel it trying to burst its way out of her chest so maybe _it _could find some air.

"No. We were just talking and—" Dom hysterically scanned the room and ceiling like _just maybe _the solution was hidden somewhere in that space or over their heads.

Arthur pulled at his hair, "Is she having a heart attack?"

Ariadne was getting lightheaded…and her chest was tightening, burning. Arthur—close to a nervous breakdown—reached for her only to be swatted aside as she tried to stand. She didn't know what she was thinking. Maybe if she stood up, she'd have a clear passage in her airways? Maybe there was oxygen a foot over? There wasn't. She collapsed on the ground by the lawn chair feeling at the floor frantically. Her nervous system, her respiratory system, all of it were ablaze. Ariadne was on fire.

Arthur was suddenly on the floor with her, pulling her into his lap. Her body didn't feel her own as she thrashed and clawed at the air trying to force it into her lungs. "Don't do this. Don't this to me again, Ari, breathe. _Breathe._" Arthur pinched the bridge of her nose and blew into her mouth. Gave her CPR…but it wasn't working. The oxygen was _there. _Her lungs were expanding. The ability to breathe was _there. _But the two weren't working together. They weren't cooperating. He was transferring oxygen into her body and she STILL couldn't breathe. Her mouth opened wide, begging for the life sustaining gas to enter and give her release. Instead her eyes watered and leaked. Arthur was flabbergasted. He couldn't do much but chant, "Breathe. _Just breathe._"

The headlights were back, blinding her. Her chest and lungs ached to the point of cramping and the agony of the tightness, she couldn't bear much longer. Out of the corner of her blurred vision, the warehouse door opened and Roger was running, Cobb and Jameson in tow. (Dom called Roger when Arthur got on the floor with the girl). She heard ambulances sirens and yelling, instructions that didn't match all the mouths that were moving around her. Beeping. There was an incessant beeping multiplying into a million beeps. The Point Man anchored her head up, Roger's head pushing close to be included in the picture as things started to fade. Ariadne gasped one more time.

And the air came miraculously. Sweet, sweet, sweet air. So cold and fresh. She sucked in breath after breath, coughing, gasping. It hurt _so _good now. Roger demanded everyone back up and give her space, guiding her to slow down her breaths lest she hyperventilate and go through the same thing all over. It took her several minutes to get a point of normalcy. To get to where the fire started to go out and the dots in her vision faded into people, objects. Too weak for anything but breathing, she let her head loll to the side and looked up at Arthur. She'd felt the increasing tightness of his arms around her once the pace of her breaths reached a normal rate and the team determined she'd be fine. Indeed, the Point Man looked shaken up. His face red, his jaw set, his watery eyes furiously blinking and looking anywhere but at her and the rest of his coworkers.  
xxxxxxx

"Hello?" It was past 1 am. Arthur was sitting on the floor, leaning against the bed in his hotel room. Still calming down from the scare. He almost lost her again. And out of nowhere. What happened?! It was an anomaly. He answered the phone without checking the id first.

"It's Miles."

Arthur checked the clock again, "Isn't it extremely late for you?"

"I've been on the phone with Ariadne for hours." Something was very off about the way the Professor sighed. It wasn't full of disappointment which Arthur had grown accustomed to. Miles was on edge. He was scared. "She's confessed some alarming things to me."

"About today?"

"Yes but about—" the man took a deep breath, "She's seeing and hearing Mal while she's awake." At that, Arthur stood and went out to the balcony, gripping the phone like a vice. "And that's not all. She told me you admitted what happened to you. How you believe you feel about her." Arthur almost corrected the choice of the word _believe _because he _knew_ how much he cared, but wisely kept his mouth shut. "And that you described how you woke up. The car crash."

The Point ran his eyes back and forth on the railing, "I did."

Miles' voice cracked and instantly something in Arthur did too. A bad feeling churned around, made him nauseous. The hair on the back of his neck stood up and instantly he was at the rail, staring into the city. Searching through all the city lights to find her apartment building which was impossible considering the number of lights in Paris matched the number of stars. "She keeps hallucinating and seeing headlights coming towards her. She wakes up in the middle of the night with nosebleeds that don't stain. Sometimes she feels the sting of a slice on her chest that bleeds through her shirt but disappears completely a minute later. Ariadne isn't having normal Lucidity Adjustments. She's not seeing tennis balls and hearing school bells. Her imagination is running wild. Her questions about _your _uncertainty are filtering in to the LA's and confusing her. She keeps telling me, 'Arthur didn't question anything while he was down there and look what happened. I don't want to end up like that.'"

Arthur held his breath.

Miles began to cry, "She's giving in to an idea _you _gave her. Ariadne is beginning to question reality."

_In any other world,  
You could tell the difference._

xxxxxxx

Holy shit. Am I right? Who's really the crazy one here though? Arthur or Ariadne? Theories? 

**On a larger note: **_**The Arthur/Ariadne fandom**_ community has gathered on tumblr, LJ and AO3 to do an **AA Fest** this month. We started on the 4th. It's a way to celebrate how a bunch of us are still interested in the ship and keeping it alive. Artists are contributing fics, fic reccomendations, meta, graphics, fanmixes, fanart and videos. You name it. Each week we have a new theme like fluff, AU, angst etc. We're getting an influx of inspiration and a ton of A/A related goodness. Go to the **Official Fest**__**Tumblr**: **still-worth-a-shot** .The tumblr has links to the LJ and AO3 Official Communities, more in depth description of what's going on and a submission/ask box to either prompt or get your work out there. I believe you can view the tumblr and the links even if you don't have an account.

Links to stories on FF will totally work. You don't need a Livejournal or Archive Of Our Own account to submit fic, recs or meta. We're in the process of setting up an official forum on this site but the format is sort of a pain in the ass. I'll update on that once we get it worked out. Meanwhile, if you want to check the fest out, contribute or if you're having trouble finding it, you can DM me on here for info. Or find my tumblr **quick—givemeakiss** and ask me on there.


	9. Bleeding Love

**Thank You's: **_Lauraa-x: _Haha I'm glad youre just as confused as Art and Ari, I was trying to write it so my readers would be in their headspace. Yes, Arthur is getting better…I think maybe because his focus isn't on projection Ariadne anymore it's on the real Ariadne and_ her_ problems. Eh, Jameson and Roger are just a forger and a chemist. Don't worry. _Kamarooka: _It's a little creepy in this chapter too. Just stay tuned. I promise things will make sense…eventually…haha. _Neverlandspirit: _Thank YOU for the kind words. I enjoy writing it and seeing what you all think as much as you enjoy reading it. _Midnight the Black Fox: _Hahaha. Glad I'm keeping you interested! I wonder if there shall be any flips in this chapter.

**Chapter 9: Bleeding Love**

_Yet everyone around me thinks that I'm going crazy.  
But I don't care what they say, I'm in love with you.  
They try to pull me away but they don't know the truth.  
My heart's crippled by the vein that I keep on closing.  
_—Leona Lewis_  
_

Miles' front door was left unlocked—not the safest thing nearing 2am but Arthur's arrival was expected so it was probably done out of convenience. Arthur pushed the door open. He didn't bother to shed his overcoat or take off his shoes. All the lights were off save for a lamp in the foyer and some shots of light coming from Miles' living area where the voices were coming from too. "Dom. Do you not understand?" The Professor enunciated urgently. His temper was not one that came out often. In fact, Arthur had never heard him yell; he swore Miles was the most patient man that'd ever lived. Now, however, Miles was angry. And anxious. And his soft spoken kindliness was traded for blasts of ire. "She is questioning reality!"

Slowly making his way down the hall, Arthur could see in his mind's eye: Cobb holding up both his hands in surrender. He was using the tone that normally got Arthur worked up too. The one that meant to quell but only sounded like patronizing and minimizing the issue. "I know and I'm sorry—"

"You promised me, Dom," accused the elder, getting louder as the conversation went on, "You said you would monitor them. That it wouldn't come to this."

Dom came back with equal volume, "It won't. She's not at that point yet." He struggled to reassure his father-in-law, though it honestly sounded like he was just on the defense, "We'll nip it in the bud. We'll stop it."

"It should've never started!" Arthur winced, hearing a body plop onto the sofa. The Professor's voice cracked like it had on the phone. His volume was reduced just below his usual to accommodate the shakiness, "God…I don't know why I—"

"Listen," interrupted the Extractor, "We just have to get her away from him for a bit. Ok? Out of sight, out of mind."

Miles was no longer listening however. As Arthur stepped into the room he could see the older man (in his robe and pajamas) holding his head in his heads, "What have I done? It's going to be Mal all over again."

The blonde sighed before he noticed his friend in the doorway and he pinched the bridge of his nose before he gestured for Arthur to, "Come on, sit."

While Miles _was _laying some blame on Dom and Arthur, he ultimately felt responsible. After all he was the catalyst in this scenario. He introduced the Point Man and the Architect; their acquaintanceship turned relationship hinged on him. He set the train in motion.

Dom didn't believe Miles should feel _any _guilt. He was a small cog in the events. And while Dom himself wished his attempts to distance them had yielded better results not just for Ariadne's sake but for Miles', he felt like it could be rectified. He mostly put all the blame on Arthur for revealing his scenario to her. Had that not happened they might not have been confronted with this snag. But he couldn't control Arthur or what he did and said (despite trying) in regards to Ariadne, so Dom couldn't bring himself to feel like the responsible one. The one to clean it up, though.

Like Stephen, Arthur felt wholly responsible but mixed with the agonizing culpability of letting the Professor down and failing to protect the one he professed to love. His honesty with Ariadne wasn't for her benefit. It was selfish of him. He didn't want to risk her finding out elsewhere (but going back and analyzing it. Neither Dom or Miles would've told her. The idea that they knew of his 'stalking' and didn't warn her would incriminate them as well) and getting upset with him. He didn't want to be cut off. That's the only reason he confessed everything. So, he apologized, "Miles—" or tried to anyways. Stephen shook both his head and his hands and left the room, "Don't. I can't look at either of you right now."

Cobb sat back into the recliner, "He's falling to pieces." An observation that didn't need pointing out. One look at the Point Man said that Arthur was not far from breaking apart either. Dom was more understanding than everyone gave him credit for. Because while he could've shook his pointer finger in the air and raged at Arthur for not listening, while he could've said 'I told you so' and waved around Ariadne's problem in Arthur's face, he didn't. He remained composed and helpful, "I think we can fix this. I know how you feel, Arthur. I know how much you care about Ariadne and I know you're still tangled up in a web of confusion. I understand you can't help it. But you're her mentor for all intents and purposes. She looks to you for guidance in the dream more than the rest of us. Her uncertainty is built upon yours. You have to convince her you're sure of reality—whether you truly are yet or not—for her questions to go away."

Arthur halfway listened. As soon as the Professor called and hit him with the news, he knew what the solution had to be, "We have to fire her."

Cobb sat up and rotated his head slightly to the side. This wasn't like Mal. They identified what was happening to Ariadne right away, they understood her headspace early on. They didn't have to guess, they just had to treat. Mal was firm in her disbelief before they all caught on. They had to battle to change her already made up mind. Ariadne was merely _beginning _to have questions. Dispel the questions and Ariadne would be back to normal. Arthur and Miles were acting as if the girl was already one foot in the grave. "I don't think we h—"

"No." Arthur was firm. Unwilling to waver or discuss, "Ariadne needs to be as far from dreaming as we can put her. She's needs to stop using Somnacin and she needs to stop seeing _me_. We have to cut her off completely." It was going to be rough. Cutting her off would like cutting his legs off but it had to be done. _For her._ Arthur reminded himself of that as his fists clenched his pants legs.

Dom futilely tried to reason, "She's never been through this before. You can't force her to quit cold turkey and then deny her direction on how to deal with it. She'll still have questions."

"She'll have Miles. He can help her through it." Out of the Point's pocket, a key, a list of directions and a phone number were displayed on the coffee table between them. (The one with the copy of War and Peace and the clock picture frame containing Ariadne's picture). "I've already secured another location. We need everything out by morning. Call Roger and Jameson have them help you move the equipment. I'll break the news now, while I have the vigor."

The Extractor stood with the Point, abandoned the key and pile of documents on the table and following behind him. What was Arthur thinking? The job wasn't completed. She hadn't finished the model on level 2 or taught it to the forger. They could fix Ariadne's confusion and keep going. "I think we could find a less drastic way to fix this—"

"We can't take the chance. Miles may never forgive us if we lose her. And I will certainly never forgive myself."

xxxxxxx

Ariadne woke from the vibration of her phone, buzzing from underneath her pillow. Only by sheer luck was she able to answer it without looking. She pressed it to ear and rolled onto her back to let out a semi-coherent, "Hm?"

"I'm at your door." Normally, his velvety voice could put her to back to sleep but in this instance it woke her up. "Let me in, please." Her eyes blinked open as she went to ask if everything was ok but was cut off from by the dial tone. The woman literally rolled out of bed to her feet and grabbed a zip up jacket off her desk chair on her way to the door.

"Arthur?" she asked as she let the door drift open. She knew it was him from the phone call; his name wasn't said in surprise, it was said the way she'd ask 'what?' The Point Man stepped in and closed the door then swept her up into a tight hug. Not knowing what to do, Ariadne stood limply while he buried his face in her neck and took deep breaths. Gradually, her arms coiled around his waist and held him back. Surely, he didn't wake her up at this ungodly hour for a bear hug. His muscles felt tight through his shirt. Arthur was strung out over something. When he let her go is when she probed—her face a hundred different shades of bewildered. "What's going on?"

"I'm firing you. The sketches have been finalized. I can complete the model and teach it to Jameson in your place." Arthur rushed it out. The speed and slurring together of his speech was anything but dignified but he was afraid that he wouldn't be able to go through with it if he stopped and took a breath.

The Architect was too tired for this. She'd just fallen asleep a little over an hour ago after getting off the phone with Miles. She wondered if that's why he wasn't making any sense. With a rub of her eyes, she went, "Excuse me?"

"You're no longer on the team."

"What—" his wrist was snatched by both of her hands instantaneously after he turned his back, "Arthur." Then his arm was tugged to twist him back around to face her, "Arthur! You can't fire me out of nowhere and leave without giving any kind of explanation."

Arthur glanced strenuously at the appendage she was touching. The lightest contact with her made his bones ache in the most beautifully painful way. All she needed was a brush of her finger against the cuff of his sleeve and she could hold him hostage for days on end sans chains or rope. Maybe she was aware of all this (maybe she wasn't) but Ariadne wouldn't let go and he wouldn't ask. "I can't have you feeding off my uncertainty. Not while you're undergoing lucidity adjustments. It's too confusing. It's dangerous. I won't allow you to question your reality."

Eyes widening with recognition, her hands released him, "Miles." Then her jaw grit, "I told him not to tell you."

"I'm glad he did. I was wrong to divulge my problems to you. To lean on you for support."

"You weren't." argued Ariadne. Gaze determined, defensive, confident. "You were right to. Your problems involve me. I had a right to know." She huffed, "I'm fine, I can handle it. I can finish out the job."

Arthur shook his head, "No. I'm sorry. The decision was unanimous," and bolted his hand towards the doorknob before Ariadne could cast him under her spell.

"When will I see you again?"

Too late. On his journey over, Arthur wished on every star and prayed to God that he wouldn't be confronted by this question. He knew he could box his feelings up and do what needed to be done if he kept focused on the present. The here and now. When he thought of the future was when he froze up because there would be no Ariadne in his future. Not if he wanted to ensure her sanity beyond the shadow of a doubt. In essence, there was no future but eternal hell and he hated having to dwell on it. "You won't."

"Not even after I've adjusted?"

"Not even then, no. We're cutting all your ties to dreamshare. I'm sorry, it's what's best." It looked like he was apologizing to the door knob, the way he was intensely staring at it. Directing all of his replies to it. "I wouldn't take back a mo—" no. Arthur cut his emotions off like he was cutting off his blood circulation.

It slowly started to sink in for Ariadne that the whirlpool of fantastical experiences she'd had over the past several weeks were abruptly coming to an end without the prospect of experiencing them ever again. And worst of all, this man who'd become somewhat of a dysfunctional best friend and bizarre love interest was going to be nothing but a memory tomorrow. She protested, "I don't want to be cut off from you."

Arthur had a surge of overwhelming desolation but covered over it with furious eyes and a biting: "You don't have a choice." Before yanking open the door and then slamming it in her face.

Arthur made it as far as the elevator before he had to sit in the floor and let the frustration, sorrow and passion bubble forth and pour out of him.  
xxxxxxx

It seemed like nothing at all changed when Ariadne appeared at the top of the auditorium before Miles' 8:30 am lecture on Schinkel and the Creation of a New Urban Topography. Dressed in her signature scarf, cardigan and jean combo. The same old messenger bag at her hip. The difference was her smile.

There wasn't one.

"I'm off the team." His protégé was upset. _Very _upset. Stephen knew he was fixing to be cast in the part of 'unreasonable father figure' and so stacked his graded test sheets and sighed to prepare himself as she jogged down the steps to his desk. Completely ignoring her earlier statement, he smiled, "Ariadne, it's good to see you."

"_Why _would you tell Dom and Arthur?" She planned to stay for a bit considering she pulled the strap of her bag over her head and dropped it at the foot of his desk. "What I told you was in the strictest of confidence."

Miles rubbed his forehead, "Sweetheart, I was worried. I panicked."

_You infected my mind! _Ariadne stumbled back from Miles' desk—the reflection in his glasses of a crying Mallory Cobb startled her into her feet and made her look behind herself to make sure the phantom wasn't there. _You betrayed me. But you can make amends…_ It did nothing for the Professor's increasing nerves to see Ariadne's sudden skittishness for himself. He stood to calm the girl down.

_I know who you are…what are you doing here? _ Mal was irritated now, her reflection coming at Ariadne in a black dress, with a broken wine glass. Ariadne couldn't concentrate on Stephen, his soothing voice or his outstretched arms. All she saw was Cobb's wife lunging at her from inside the man's glasses and scrambled then tripped backwards, landing with a plunk in one of the seats. Somehow, the first few drops of her mentor's tears washed Mal away from view. He was kneeled in front of her, holding her two hands in his. "You're like another daughter to me, Ariadne. I had to step in and alter things. I can't lose you too. Not the same way. Not if I can prevent it this time around."

"Stop comparing me to Mal!" Ariadne snapped out of the blue. She wasn't sure where the fury came from. One moment it was there crawling into her chest and filling her throat with venomous sounds. Perhaps it was her fear. Fear is a cowardly thing. It doesn't like to be seen for what it truly is so it shows itself in the forms of other emotions. "I'm not Mal." _I'm the only thing you do believe in anymore. _Those damn golden curtains were back, swaying behind Miles. Mocking her. Provoking her. _I'll tell you a riddle. _Ariadne pulled her feet up in the chair with her and pressed her hands against her ears.

_You're waiting for a train. _

"I'm not Mal, Miles."

_A train that will take you far away._

"I'm not Mal." Neither was the voice though was it? No. It was morphing into a voice far more familiar. Mal's voice shifted into one that sounded just like Ariadne's. But it spoke even when her mouth wasn't moving. It echoed in her ears.

_You think you know where this train will take you._

Was it Arthur's projection speaking? Was Ariadne truly terrified of becoming Mal or terrified she might be one in the same with her? Terrified she was nothing more than a shade herself? Why else would she be the only one able to see the elegantly vile woman? No. Ariadne was real. She was her own person. She was not a figment. Not _that _Ariadne. "I'm NOT her."

_But you can't know for sure._

"I'M NOT HER."

_But it doesn't matter._

"I'M NOT HER! I'M NOT HER, MILES!" The Architect was rocking in the seat. Her fingers jabbed into her ears. Her yells ricocheted through the space of the auditorium. Miles was beside himself, holding her head, his hands on top of hers, telling her it was ok. He understood. No, she was not her. She was NOT her. SHE WAS NOT HER! His eyes darted quickly to clock, hoping against hope that none of his students showed up early to ask questions.

_How can it not matter?_

Why did her mind think she knew the answer to the riddle? Yes she'd heard it in Dom's subconscious but he woke her up before she could find out the answer. She didn't know. Why couldn't she shut her brain up?

_How can it not matter?  
Tell me why.  
How can it not matter where that train will take you?  
Tell me why it doesn't matter._

Ariadne screamed the first thing that came to mind to appease her inner monsters: "Arthur!"

xxxxxxx

Sure, it hadn't even been over twenty fours but she needed to see him. Desperately needed it. In such a manner that her body burned the way it did the day she lost oxygen for two minutes and twelve seconds. When things went haywire and her mind flipped out, if she could conjure Arthur up in her mind everything was ok. Why did it take her this long to figure out the remedy? He quieted the voices. He chased Mal away. He shielded her from the headlights. He stopped the bleeding. He gave her air.

Was she really going crazy? Or was she simply falling in love? She'd never felt either at such depths before so she couldn't properly differentiate. Was her mind doing what Arthur's did? Abstractly convincing her they belonged together? Except he'd long been adjusted to repetitive lucid dreaming when _his_ subconscious concluded his feelings. If she was falling in love, it was shitty timing on her brain's part for choosing this hectic time in her life to decide on it. It couldn't have waited until she was firmly established as a dream architect? Love at first sight must definitely be a real thing—it happens…it just kicks in much later.

What would they do if she just showed up at the warehouse? The woman thought sardonically. Physically escort her back home? But she would've seen him. They couldn't stop that. After her breakdown at the college (which she kept denying ever happened), Miles shooed her into his broom closet of an office and pleaded with her to wait until his class was over. Then he promised to get a sub for his 10:15 so he could take her to the coffee shop and the two of them could talk and work it out together. He'd been in the business too, after all. He understood how it worked and how it played tricks with the mind out of personal experience not just from witnessing it happen to his daughter and son in law. Ariadne didn't wait, though. She couldn't bring herself to sit still. She'd tried for twenty minutes to contain herself in his office by pacing around his desk but ended up leaving a note and bolting.

_I'm sorry, I needed air.  
I probably need time on my own too.  
I'll call. Love, A. _

She caught the metro in lieu of walking to make it to the warehouse in fifteen minutes versus twenty five. It was just a few minutes after nine, the team's morning meeting would be underway. The Architect eagerly picked up her pace to jog up the steps and the pushed the doors open expecting to surprise the cluster of men inside. Yet it was empty like no one had been there in years. The cardboard taped to the windows to keep the light and wandering eyes out was removed. The walls that were littered with pictures and sketches were bare. No whiteboard. No desks. Nothing. There were two things that reassured her that she hadn't imagined her team. That they were _in fact_ there at one point. One was a long diagonal scrape on the floor where one of the lawn chairs' broken legs was dragged.

And the other was a box of her things (the size of a shoebox) sitting by the door: A few of her pens and pencils that she hadn't taken in her pencil case her last day, her compass, the stapler and two hot glue guns she supplied, two red bulls she asked Roger to put in his fridge to keep cold for her, a couple hair ties and doodles she hid in the bottom of her desk drawers. At first, all she felt was shock. Then abandonment. Then pissed that they actually moved everything out _that fast_ so she wouldn't be able to find any of them. After all she'd done? After laboring all those hours for their models and layers? Perfecting them, teaching them, tweaking them. Ariadne felt a little bit used and unappreciated. How could they deny her the reward of seeing all her hard work come to fruition? They wouldn't! Snatching the box up and under her arm, Ariadne furiously powerwalked to her flat. At the stoplight, she whipped her cell phone out and dialed Arthur's number.

"We're sorry. The number you're trying to reach is no longer in service."

What. Had she accidentally dialed the wrong contact? She sneered, checking her phone for the name and area code unique to the Point Man. Ariadne was more upset over the number she dialed being the same one filed than over being bumped and shoved forward by fellow Parisians when the crosswalk light lit up. It had to have been a mistake…she confidently hit redial. "We're sorry. The number you're trying to reach is no longer in service."

"UGH." Ariadne adjusted the box under her arm. Why she thought it would be different the third time she dialed is unknown but the Architect was stubborn that way. "We're sorry. The number you're—" she jammed her thumb against the end button and threw her cell phone into the box as she reached the front door of her building.

The stress was piling up. The girl felt ambushed by negativity and fear from all directions. Arthur told her adjustments to lucidity were normal and yet they all acted like she was a special case. They were all worried, Miles exceptionally so; so whatever happening to her was not the norm. She was seeing and hearing Dom and Arthur's memories. Their projections. In short, she was going crazy. On top of that she was fired from her job. Ariadne used Somnacin religiously every day for a long enough period to become addicted. She craved it. She needed to dream. She needed pure creation and they cut her off from all of it. From that wonderful world she was getting used to being a part of. So she was going crazy _and _she was devastated. As if Ariadne needed more complication in her life…she came to the conclusion that she might be falling in love with the Point Man the exact same day he dropped from the face of the earth.

She was going crazy, she was devastated _and _her heart had broken just as it began to fall. Perfect.

Once she was inside her flat, it all came to a head. Her messenger bag got dropped to the floor and the box was flung across the room. The stapler broke open, leaving tiny metal staples all over her floor. ARIADNE WANTED TO SCREAM. Instead, she took it out on her furniture. She ripped the pillows from the couch and tossed them at the door—pretending like it was Dom's face. Or Miles'. Or Arthur's. Any of them really, she had enough pillows to go around. Her cereal sat lonely on the top of her breakfast table begging for attention so the girl threw it too. It was more or less plastic, so it didn't do much but clang when it hit the wall. The cheerios and milk running down her wall was oddly soothing. _How did you wake up? _Arthur's confession popped into her head like it did late at night when the silence was too loud. _We were celebrating our first year anniversary._

"_I'd like to call it admiring." _

"_I'd like to call you a smartass."_

"_I'd like to call you the love of my—"_

_And on the way home a car collided into us._

Headlights. Ariadne shielded her eyes from the cereal splattered on the wall as the lights of a car came bursting through it. They were blinding. Glaring through a car window that wasn't there. Getting bigger and bigger as they sped closer and closer. The Architect was standing but felt a leather seat on the back of her legs. There was a deafening crunch of metal (a sound she didn't hallucinate before). And her voice but not her voice screaming in panic at the top of her lungs.

"_Arthur!" _

_I shot my arm out to guard her._

Ariadne felt knocked back by an arm but in reality tripped and fell back onto the staples. She cried out, shaking her hands to get them off though too many of them pierced her palms. She crawled backwards to get out of the pool of metal and pressed her back against the couch.

_I think her head went through the side window. _

She heard glass shatter and shot her eyes to the window by her kitchen table out of instinct. It was broken, the shards all over the floor. (But in reality it was intact—as she would later see.) An intense headache started at the back of her head and pulsated towards the front. The tears started to fall as she grabbed her head in anguish and started rocking to make it stop. Make all of it stop. The hands weaving through and pulling at her hair started to feel a sticky wetness. And the carpet between her legs was slowly catching and absorbing drops of blood that came from her face. They didn't stain. As soon as they landed, they soaked up and vanished. And when Ariadne worriedly yanked her hands out of her hair to examine them they were clean save for the miniscule punctures of the staples.

_Her hair was bloody. Both sides of her nose bleeding—_

Horrified, confused and distraught, Ariadne laid curled up on the ground and sobbed as a streak of red bled through her shirt just under her collarbones.

—_a cut across her neck where the seatbelt had cut._

xxxxxxx

Roger ran his hand through his hair, took a swig of the coffee sitting in the cup holder and put his hand on Arthur's shoulder, "Come on man. We've been gone over an hour and a half. Cobb's gonna know we weren't just getting coffee if we come back and his is stone cold."

Arthur ignored him so he shook the hand on his shoulder and called more sternly, "Arthur."

The Point Man finally responded, lowering his binoculars (he couldn't see anything anymore anyway), "She's not handling it well. Maybe I should go up there."

"No," insisted the chemist. "It's going to take more than 24 hours for her to regulate."

Throwing the binoculars in the back seat, the man leaned his head on the steering wheel, "I can't do this to her. I can't stand to see her so distraught."

"Well watching her like a hawk isn't helping either of you."

"I just—" the Point lifts his head and leans back in his seat. His hands gripped the bottom of the wheel. He glanced back up at her kitchen window than at Roger. "I don't know where to go from here. I want to do what's best for her. But I don't know what's best anymore. I feel responsible for her current mentality and I know my situation only confuses her. I know that being around me is detrimental to her psychological health. But at the same time: if she needs me, I should be there. If she's hurting, I should make it go away. I shouldn't abandon her. If she wants me—"

The Chemist stops him, "Do you love her?"

Arthur didn't shy away from admitting it. He didn't think about professionalism. Didn't worry about the façade he worked to uphold. Didn't even ponder how his answer would sound with the knowledge that in reality he hadn't known her long enough for his answer to make sense. He just said what he felt. His brows knit, "I do. More than anything."

"Then let's head back. That's what's best."_  
_

_You cut me open  
And I keep bleeding  
Keep, keep bleeding love._

xxxxxxx

Next chapter brings about another small reveal of the truth of the plot. I'm excited. As always, I'd love to hear theories. Reviews are highly, highly appreciated. They make me really giddy and when I get giddy I write a lot. Lol. So you guys keep me going. Thanks for that. It's hard to keep inspired with how busy life gets but I manage to do that thanks to you loverly people.


	10. Once Upon a Dream

**Quick Thanks this week to: **_neverlandspirit, Lauraa-x, Pendragon6203 _and _Kamarooka._

**Chapter 10: Once Upon a Dream**

_I know you  
I walked with you once upon a dream.  
I know you  
That gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam.  
And I know it's true  
That visions are seldom all they seem.  
_ —Lana Del Rey

A week. A whole week left behind in the mundane life of before.  
Ariadne despised it. Don't get her wrong; all the sleep she was able to catch up on was wonderful but the lack of brain stimulation was pitiful. Every day was the same routine: sleep until eleven am, shower, eat brunch, help Miles with his 12:15, walk through the park behind the Eiffel, stop at the patisserie for an afternoon snack, do some work for her online class, cook a tv dinner or order in, watch tv and play around on Pinterest until 2 am, then fall into bed and stare at the ceiling until unconsciousness. Repeat. Now, Ariadne couldn't lie and say the team and Miles were completely wrong in their decision—as much as she disagreed with it, it'd done her plenty of good. In just a week, the voices had wound down to whispers, Mal hadn't materialized since Tuesday afternoon and the frequency of stainless nosebleeds and blinding headlights lowered significantly. Then again that could have absolutely _nothing _to do with the team's verdict and _everything _to do with her naturally adjusting to lucidity and the side effects waning. Either way, all she needed was a respite to start feeling like normal again.

Normal meaning she wasn't hallucinating or acting schizophrenic anymore. The normalcy returning in that area of her psyche balanced out the abnormality growing in the other part of it. The abnormality? She missed a man she'd known barely six weeks. And not just 'oh, gee I liked spending time with Arthur, that was fun, I sort of miss him.' It was parasitic. She found herself constantly thinking about him: 'What would he say to this?' What would Arthur think about that?' It wasn't like the familiar feeling of missing the home she grew up in and her parents and cousins. And it wasn't anything like the friends you grew up with in high school. You know, the ones that you wish well, wonder what they're doing and think it'd be nice to see them again and catch up. This was like a headache—a incessant non-stop headache but through all the bones in her body. Like the straining feeling of growing pains but in the pit of her stomach. Of course, she attributed it to the fact that she recognized she had an infatuation with him just before she was fired (she knew deeper down, though, that this was a feeling immensely more serious than infatuation).

Ariadne started leaving her shades open. Arthur told her he watched her before…it was creepy and offsetting then. Now, it was comforting. The open window with the sunlight in the mornings and the starlight and glistening Tour de Eiffel at night made it seem like he was there with her in some way. At any given moment, he could be feet away, watching her. So she felt that at any given moment she might catch a glimpse. Maybe a flash of jet black hair. Maybe the back of a three piece suit. She sat in front of her window a lot: Eating, sketching, during homework on the computer, waiting for her hair to dry after the shower. If Arthur was watching and she stared out looking for him enough, maybe his guilt would come into play. She knew Arthur _had _to miss her this much, probably more. He wouldn't be able to resist her if she displayed how much she really wanted him.  
xxxxxxx

Arthur drove by her flat every day. Once around eleven thirty when she was sitting with wet hair, eating cereal in the window seat and once around dinner while he was picking food up for the team if he could manage it. From those five seconds, he couldn't gather enough about her demeanor to determine how she was fairing. _That_ he had to inquire from Stephen. The Point Man _wanted_ to take Miles' word for it—that Ariadne was improving in leaps and bounds. That despite being bored she was safe, her mind was stabilizing. She may be all those things but she wasn't happy. The Professor had let it slip that Ariadne felt abandoned. That she felt treated like a flight risk. Like her work was all they cared about and since they had the designs they needed they were fine with throwing her away. Which was not the case, obviously. Arthur could understand her coming to that reasoning though. Arthur was definitely not happy either. Being with her and around her, as jarring as it was, it made _him _feel stable. All Arthur needed was that girl to feel himself. Now, he was relapsing. He was dreaming of the projection again. Feeling lost again. Feeling the world conspire against him again. He could stand in the middle of the street, close his eyes and feel her lips on his. He could lie in bed and feel her tucked into the bend of his arm. He heard her laugh in crowds of tourists passing by.

Cobb was no help. He was of the idiotic belief that with Ariadne gone, all of Arthur's problems were gone as well.

At the start of week two without her, the stress of the impending job compounded with all of his anxiety pushed him to drive by her flat a third time after leaving the new warehouse. It was eleven miles out of his way but his foot on the pedal and his hands on the steering wheel operated without thought. When he passed, he saw her silhouette in the bedroom window. The shades in her bedroom used to stay closed 24/7. Lately they'd been open. Even then, at _that _time of night. 1:47 am and her windows bared her privacy for all to see. Arthur was parked in the shadows within seeing distance seconds later. His logic told him that her open windows were inviting danger and he needed to protect her if it came to it. Paris was filled with lovely people, sure, but like anywhere else in the world it had its creeps.

The Architect was sitting in her bedroom window in her pajamas. Which in this case was an Elmo muscle t-shirt and silky pink shorts. She was angled to the side, balancing her laptop on her knees, intently scrolling through something. Her curls were tousled, most of it trailed down her back, though a strip of a shorter layer fell in in front of her shoulder as she leaned forward to see the screen closer for a second. The beauty of her candidness was sinful…the problem with that was this: the armholes in her shirt were large; they exposed an expanse of the skin down her side and showed a peep of her pink sports bra. The way she was sitting made those shorts ride up—who knows what someone sitting at another angle would see. He couldn't imagine another man looking up at her window and thinking what he was thinking. If she wanted to lounge around that scantily clad (it was more modest than his wide eyes and tightening pants were making it out to be—making out—_Dear God_…), then she should lower her shades so others wouldn't see. Any other man could lay eyes on her and pine over her and fantasize about her. And any pervert could count which floor she was on and go up and barge in.  
xxxxxxx

Ariadne finished typing up an essay about modern topography for her online class and decided she was parched. She set her laptop on the ground and traipsed into her kitchen for a glass of milk. She then stood in front of the window and sipped on it, watching how the leaves shook on the trees when the breeze blew. Her cell phone buzzed on the coffee table. Email, maybe? A reminder she forgot she set (thus why she needed reminders). No. It was a text from a blocked number. Now, two texts...

**1:58 am Blocked Number:  
Close your shades.**

**I:58 am Blocked Number:  
Are you crazy? Any pervert can look up and see you. And some of them might have the mind to go in and find the pretty thing in the window. **

**1:59 am Ariadne Bourgeois:  
Arthur?**

**1:59 am Blocked Number:  
I don't want to have to murder anyone tonight to keep you safe. Close your shades, please.**

It had to be him. Instead of texting back, she dialed the number. Instead of obeying his wishes, she defied them. Ariadne propped herself back up in her kitchen window and waited. The phone rang and rang and rang and for a minute she believed he wasn't going to answer. Maybe it wasn't Arthur. Maybe it was and he had infinitely more self-control than the last time she saw him. However, a ring or two away from going to voicemail, the recipient picked up hastily. He didn't offer up any form of greeting but she could hear his breath. Especially the long sigh. Whoever he was, he was disappointed in himself for giving in.

It had to be Arthur.

"Why don't you come up here and close them yourself?" bravely teased the Architect.

The reaction was delayed by his reluctance to reveal it was him. To hear her voice and placate himself was one thing. To engage in conversation and possibly nullify all the progress Ariadne made was another. And yet, he still replied. "I can't. I'm in my hotel room. I just saw them open as I passed."

Coincidentally, a lone man crossed the street and was walking along the sidewalk under her flat. The Architect peered but it really _was_ just coincidence. Arthur didn't wear skinny jeans and leather jackets (maybe the jackets. She was sure he owned some nice expensive leather sports coat or something) and Arthur definitely didn't grow blonde dreadlocks in a week. Ariadne had the feeling Arthur was lying. She couldn't just ask or call him out on it, he would continue to lie. There was one way to find out: get a reaction. Challenge him. The woman set the phone on the window seat and put the phone on speaker, asking, "So you can't see me?"

"No."

"You can't see what I'm doing?"

"No."

The man with the dreadlocks' attention naturally floated up to her when she stood because of the movement in the corner of his eye. Ariadne looked at him and determinedly hooked her thumbs into her shorts. They were down under her hip bones, the waistband of her black underwear visible, the man stopped in his tracks (what man would ignore a willing strip tease, eh?), and her will was fixing to slowly pull the shorts lower when Arthur grit into the phone, "Don't you dare." Ariadne listened to him that time, freezing with a smirk. Disregarding the perfect timing, it could've been that he could sense her mischievous tone and knew she was doing something stupid…But mentioning the man with the dreadlocks sort of confirmed he was within watching distance. "You don't know who the hell that man is. Don't welcome that attention. He could be a rapist for all you know."

The silky pink shorts went back up. Nonchalant, she sat in the window, grabbed her milk for a sip and took the phone off speaker to hold back to her ear. Without promise of a further peep show and Ariadne completely ignoring him, the man with the dreadlocks went on his way. It didn't even occur to her what she would've done if Arthur was telling the truth about being in his hotel room until that moment. She had no intentions of dropping her shorts to her ankles especially with some stranger watching. Good thing she gambled right, that would've been awkward. The Architect waited until the man was out of sight to look out the window again and speak impishly, "You liar. You're watching me again." She got a tad more serious with, "Have you been watching me all week?" The testament to her lingering craziness was that Ariadne secretly hoped Arthur sat outside her apartment and obsessively watched her all that time they'd been separated.

"This is the first time." Ariadne forced herself not to let the displeasure show on her face in case he was close enough to catch it. "I usually just pass by on my way to and from the warehouse but tonight—I'm sorry. I needed to see you. _Really _see you."

Ignoring the apology in his voice, she countered, "That's not fair. I need to see you too…"

"You don't," insisted the Point Man, "It's better for you if you don't."

"It doesn't _feel_ better," argued the girl, eyes still scanning the streets. "Just come stand on the sidewalk under my window. We're already talking. It can't do more damage than that."

Arthur scolded in a vain attempt to mask the fact that he was pleading with her not to plead with him, "Ariadne."

"Please, Arthur?" Innocent. Hopeful. He wasn't close enough to see her big caramel colored eyes and the slight knit of her brow but he could picture it from past experience and coupled it with the loneliness that exuded from her slight form framed by the window. With a grit in his teeth (all for show to convince himself he was unwilling), the Point Man stepped out of the car (that was hidden amidst the carefully landscaped brush of the apartment building across the street) and walked pass the carport to the edge of the sidewalk. Her smile was reward enough to disrespect the team's resolve, as well as her fond: "There he is."

They'd already basically said hello but he automatically smiled gently up at her, "Hey."

Ariadne shifted her legs to sit Indian style and then faced the window completely with the elbow of the hand holding the phone to her ear propped on top of her knee. She had to admire his grey three piece, the black shirt, the grey bowtie…so his style. His wardrobe became something like a constant she could count on. "I've missed you…Have y—"

"You know I've missed you too," Arthur was close enough in proximity now to see her facial expressions.

Ariadne frowned, lips pursed. "I don't know what's wrong with me, Arthur." Her free hand rubbed against her forehead as if trying to give her a clue as to what it was.

The man stepped down from the sidewalk and took a seat on the curb. Contrary to characteristic, he wasn't concerned about the grime of the city dirtying his new suit pants. "Everything's going to be ok," comforted the Point, "I promise. I'll make it ok. You're already doing better—"

"Is that what Miles told you?"

He ignored her, "In a month or so you won't even remember what lucidity feels like. All of this will go away."

"I'm not talking about _that." _Arthur was corrected. "I'm not talking about Mal and the nosebleeds and stuff. I'm talking about _missing you_." Here, she sat up and shook her head in disbelief at herself, "It's only been week. I've only known you a month and half. I don't understand why I miss you so much."

His head tilted in place of a shrug, "You're used to seeing me every single day all day. Your routine's been changed. I'm sure it's weird."

Arthur wasn't getting the point she was making. Again, she shook her head, "No, it's not—I mean it _is_ weird—but it's also like…" her eyes closed to come up with the word that fit her feelings best, "agonizing." Opening her eyes, she studied the street between them, "You're what? Fourteen feet away? And it feels like a whole world."

The man dropped eye contact instantaneously and returned to his feet, "I think maybe I should go."

"No," Ariadne protested, "What part of saying you're not close enough told you get farther away from me?"

"This isn't a good idea," warned the man as he pocketed his free hand. Ariadne was almost positive he wasn't doing it for comfort; he was doing it to feel the weight of his die. "When we're together, you get worse."

She reasoned, "That's not necessarily true. I wasn't with you when I had the episode at the college. You're rarely present when I freak out."

"You wouldn't have episodes if it weren't for me."

"You don't know that."

"So you're saying you would still see headlights and hallucinate car crashes if I hadn't told you about mine in detail?"

Ariadne squinted, "I'm saying that...I'd probably still see and hear Mal if you hadn't. I picked her up from Dom not you. It can't be entirely your fault." Arthur didn't have an answer for that. Instead of fishing for more insight, the girl changed the subject. "We never said goodbye, you know."

"I said goodbye."

"I didn't." She said with melancholy, dropping her free lap into her lap, "You were out the door before I knew what hit me."

"I'm sorry."

Ariadne grinned slyly, "You could make it up to me by taking me to the diner. It's still open, I bet."

Arthur shook his head up at her, "Ariadne—"

"One last time. _Please?"_ How could he resist her with her chin dipped, her lips curved up into a honeyed smile and her eyes blinking cajolingly? He couldn't. "I'll put on real clothes…"

Arthur smothered a chuckle, "That'd be a good idea."

"Is that a yes then?"

Pinching the bridge of his nose he replied, "Yes…if we can leave before my better judgment catches up with me."

No more than three minutes and she was coming down the stairs in front of her building in jeans (with one hole in the knee) and a Beatles t-shirt, grey scarf (it was the first one she could grab). Ariadne looked both ways and jogged across the street, shrugging on her infamous red jacket on her way. She jogged right up until her arms were around his neck and he was forced to wrap his arms around her waist and stumble backwards to keep them from falling.  
xxxxxxx

"Check?" The waitress asked for the second time. She was an exchange student from England and delighted in the fact that she could converse with the duo in her native tongue instead of scrambling for words in her limited French vocabulary.

Ariadne had been stalling as long as possible and continued on her mission, "Actually, I'd like another slice of pie."

Arthur gaped. He'd never seen her eat so much. First she doubled their normal order of bacon and sausage. Got some pancakes, after that some chicken tenders and now she was ordering her third slice of pie. "You barely finished your last slice. What makes you think you could down another?"

The Architect smiled brightly at him and addressed the waiter, "Two forks please. And he probably needs his coffee topped off."

"I don't have coffee," he gestured to his glass of water.

"Oh, could you bring him some coffee? Regular, black." They'd been there two hours already, nearing four am. And while Arthur relished this time with her, his guilty conscious was playing on his heartstrings. He shouldn't have spent all night with her. He opened his mouth to decline but Ariadne added, "You have to wait for our pie anyway."

Arthur sighed towards the waitress, "Could you bring it all to go? And then the check please? Thank you."

Ariadne scoffed, "Rude. Are you tired of me already?"

The man leaned over the table on his elbows towards her, "You're going to be the death of me."

"What a way to go, though, right?" Joked the woman. He concurred with a smirk and she delved into the topic of business, "How's the job going? Don't you extract next week?"

"Yes. On Thursday, I believe. It's going well. I'm in the middle of teaching Jameson the last level."

She grimaced. Jameson was a little slow in terms of proportioning his structures and scapes, "He grasping it well?"

Shaking his hand, Arthur said, "Fairly. It's taken a few days for him to memorize the detailing. Dom's nervous he'll screw the job up and wants me to dream it instead but I think Jameson will come through."

"He's just a slow learner," she nodded, every bit the optimist.

"How's the University?"

"The same. I'm finishing up the semester online. It's a pain in the ass. Sleeping in is great. The extra amount of reading and module tests are driving me up the wall but I have more time to do it all now so I'm less stressed."

"Good."

She laughed, "Is Dom ecstatic I'm gone?"

Arthur raised his eyebrows significantly. Truth be told, Dom was the one who wanted to keep her on board. "Actually no. I think he was really starting to count on you."

Ariadne thought so too. She was actually really worried about him and his shade problem without someone to force him to face it. Disposing that thought, she put her elbows on the table and sat her chin in her hands, "What are you going to do after the job?"

He took a deep breath and avoided her eyes by looking at the window. He'd have to leave. Not just for her sake but as part of protocol. He didn't think he could bring himself back to Paris and not give in to the urge to see her. So he'd never be able to come back to Paris again…Those thoughts weren't implied in his answer, "Might head to my place in New York and scout out some recon work while I'm ducking down."

"You don't think you'll stay in Paris a couple days?"

"Better not." Arthur forced himself to focus on the waitress bringing their boxes and bill and not the despondent downcast eyes of the woman across him. "Ready?"

No.

xxxxxxx

There wasn't a moment spent in Paris that wasn't beautiful but at 4 am the beauty was exceptional. Time seemed to stop, to be questioned. It created a blissful moment of the in between. It was not night but it was not day. Paris was alive but it wasn't awake. The sky remained dark and the stars shone like beacons through the nighttime shadows as the dew of morning began to roll off petals. Most of the traffic lights blinked uselessly and all the lights that lit up the city's buildings like a carnival were snuffed out. The streetlights were really the only form of illumination, each surrounded by its own halo as a blanket of mist sat dormant over the city. It gave off that hazy, whimsical, romantic feeling most portraits of Paris portray.

Ariadne insisted on walking to and from the diner to optimize the time they spent together. Contrary to the walk over, the walk home consisted of deafening silence. Neither wanted to be the first to broach the topic of impending separation. Talking made time pass faster so they silently agreed to enjoy being next to each other as long as they could. While Arthur kept his eyes moving from tree to tree or street sign to rooftop, Ariadne kept her eyes trained on the sidewalk in front of her. Stepping over and around cracks.

_**Do you know what it's like to be a lover?**_

She didn't hear Mal's voice like she did during the usual episode. She thought she saw the words etched along the length of the sidewalk in scrawl just big enough to read. It was dismissed until they reached the curb. While the Point Man checked both sides of the road before they crossed (habit. There was no traffic but figurative tumbleweeds), Ariadne glanced at the gutter and spotted a broken wine glass and a pamphlet advertising Kastelorizo Island, Greece in bold colored pictures. For some reason it sparked a piece in her brain. As they crossed the street Ariadne thought of a dream she had.

"_I want to run away with you." _

_Ariadne looked from the window of meticulously dressed mannequins and laughed at him. "We're on the run all the time. We're constantly running from something." What a weird desire. Between back to back jobs scattered over the globe, some angry marks and the rare dissatisfied client, Ariadne felt like he was constantly moving. Hiding. Getting away. A nice change would be for him to want to settle down somewhere long enough to grow roots with her. "You'll probably get your wish next month. After I graduate, we've got that extraction scheduled in Sao—" _

"_I mean from everything." Arthur slid his fingers in between hers and gave her that smirk that made her legs all wobbly. He made it worse, effortlessly strolling with grey suit jacket over one shoulder. Vest, black button up and grey bowtie still in perfect place, every bit like a GQ model. "I want to take you somewhere as awe inspiring as you are and spend months doing nothing but walking with your hand in mine and making love to you. I want to find somewhere only we know, somewhere special, somewhere you can have me all to yourself." _

_Naturally, Ariadne blushed and bit her lip, "That's a nice idea..."_

"_Let's do it. After your graduation let's disappear. Where do you want to go?"_

_Where the shyness came from was a mystery. She grinned goofily and shrugged, fingering the edge of her Beatles tshirt, "I don't know."_

"_Yes you do." The Point Man nudged her shoulder with his. "Pick our paradise. Where is somewhere you'd love to see? Somewhere you'd like to spend a lot of time?" _

_Her eyebrows rose and she suggested hopefully, "Greece?"_

In real time, Ariadne flushed at the thought of running to another country with Arthur. How rebellious would that be? No one thought they needed to spend time together even as coworkers. Imagine them really sneaking off to Greece…learning about each other's bodies as much as they'd already learned about each other's minds…He was detailed and efficient in everything he did. Imagine him in b—_Dear God. _Ariadne rubbed the back of her neck and forced herself to think about her exams, her grocery list, those meticulously dressed mannequins in the window, anything but Arthur shirtless.

Pantless. Underneath—

Her face and neck were on fire. Her skin prickled. A quick glance at the Point Man helped her embarrassment (he was still observing the scenery around them) and a quick glance up completely relieved the girl (no thought bubbles revealed her inner fantasies in case he looked over. Thank you God).

Wait. That was pretty strange, was it not? Those mannequins in the window? They were in her dream too. Sure the dream was set in Paris and she passed that store a lot but didn't Cobb say natural dreams hardly ever created places exactly as they looked in memory? That was only a thing when you could build the world (and when you built, you never created a place exactly like memory.) She looked down at herself…hadn't she been wearing this in the dream too? And Arthur…he was wearing that. Ariadne brushed her fingers against her pants leg where her totem was conveniently carried. She didn't decide to pocket her hand and curl her fingers around it until Arthur shrugged his jacket off and slung it over his shoulder with one hand—strolling down the street like some GQ model. Her totem's weight felt right so it couldn't be anything to concern herself with. Talk about déjà vu. Her eyes wandered up to the sign leading to the metro across the street.

_**You're waiting for a train, Ariadne.**_

She blinked. The words were still there under 'Champ de Mars.' Ariadne's gaze hurriedly switched to Arthur to see if he saw the same message spray painted like graffiti and he was aimlessly looking that direction but wasn't alarmed at the sign. In the hotel behind him, there were golden curtains swaying on the top floor.

"_Greece it is, then." Arthur nodded affirmatively. They crossed the street to avoid the foot traffic of people going down and coming up from the metro station. The lit up gardens of the hotel on the other side served as nicer background anyways. He pointed up at it without looking away from her, "You want to stay somewhere luxurious like that? Or—"_

_Ariadne squinted and shook her head, "Somewhere cozier." _

_Arthur brought her hand up to his lips, "I agree. I'll do some research, see if we can find something privately sold on the coast. I'll get us a nice boat too so we can visit the different islands at our leisure. You can pick it out."_

_He was serious, wasn't he? He was talking about research, location, transportation…Ariadne's longtime dream to visit Greece was going to come true. She grinned as they passed behind a public bus and Arthur pulled her closer. His arm around her shoulders. "I can't wait! Of course we should visit Pompeii and I'd like to get a picture of Mt. Vesuvius. And there's this place that's supposed to be the 'gate to Hades'. I have to ask my dad, he'll know. He's also mapped out the entire journey of Jason and the Argonauts according to real life locations. We've got to find the river Helle and Phrixus were supposed to have swam in…oh! And I _have _to see the island my dad stayed on in college if we don't see anything else. That's where he picked my name you know. The first time he read the myth of Ariadne he was at some hole in the wall there. Naxos! I _need _to see Naxos! That's where Theseus left me. Er—not me—Ariadne. My God, I can't even imagine the cultural architecture." After realizing she hadn't taken a breath since she began her babbling, Ariadne took a pause and gauged Arthur's reaction. He looked immensely amused, both eyebrows raised, a smirk that tried desperately not to pull into a dimply laugh. Ari grimaced, "Sorry. I'm as big of a myth geek as my dad. It's like we're going to my Disney World. You don't know how happy the thought of it makes me." _

_Arthur didn't hold his laugh back at that. He stopped them in the middle of the sidewalk, "You don't know how happy the thought of _making youhappy,_ makes me." _

The woman dropped her eyes to the hands that swung in time with his steps. She felt them on her skin before—her wrist specifically—the few times he unplugged her from the PASIV. They were strong, dexterous, a bit calloused. But they were _warm. _And her hands felt so numbingly cold all of a sudden…what would it feel like to hold his hand for real? To feel Arthur's fingers in the spaces between hers? Her palm against his? His thumb caressing the side of hers. The two were walking close enough that their sleeves touched every now and again so it was nothing for her to bravely extend her arm out an inch or two and brush the side of his pinky with hers.

It didn't go unnoticed by Arthur. He was sure her touch was accidental until he looked over and met her gaze. And she did it again…the second time hooking her pinky around his. It jumpstarted his pulse as tiny as the contact was. The look in Ariadne's eyes was curiosity. The Architect was experimenting with him, seeing how far Arthur would let her push. How much she could take from him. He maintained eye contact as the pace of their walking slowed and her pinky released his to stroke all her fingertips against his palm. Take what she will…he mused. Arthur knew he shouldn't but that didn't stop him from curling his fingers and running them up the back of Ariadne's in return. Or from following her line of sight when the Architect blinked pointedly down at their hands and watching as she spread her fingers and weaved them in between his. Why would he stop it? He wanted it. Wanted intimate gestures and skin to skin contact.

Perfect. His hand in hers was perfect.

_**You think you know where this train will take you but you can't know for sure.**_What a silly thing to say on a bus ad, Ariadne thought. In English instead of French no less. She almost laughed and pointed it out to Arthur until she recognized the words…until she recognized the specific bus company and the stop it was waiting at. It correlated with her dream…and the hair on the back of her neck stood up.

_She jokingly knit her eyebrows and made fun of his attempt to be dreamy, "Wow. That was a mouthful."_

"_I love you," The Point Man spun their conversation 180 degrees. His hands ran over her hips and trapped her in his embrace; his eyes got starry. Ariadne chuckled and returned the embrace by hooking her arms around his neck. At the lack of verbal reciprocity, he quipped, "Aren't you going to say you love me?"_

"_You love me."_

"_Ha. Ha."_

_To make it up to him she rose to her tippy toes and dragged her mouth across his, "I love you, Arthur."_

Ariadne stopped in her tracks. _Did_ she love Arthur? Was she in love with him? Was she falling for him when she dreamt that? Was she falling for him now? Had she already fallen? If she had was it real? Was it subconsciously forced? "Ari?" Arthur looked back from a few paces ahead, still holding her hand. She cut her eyes up and studied him. _Really _studied him. Like a picture in her textbook or a sculpture at the Louvre.

His eyes—the way they creased in the corners, the richness of the color, the depth. The hidden story of a wise old soul trapped in a young man's body. The toil of years lived inside his brain. The human beneath the robot as desperate for love as he was for perfection. For efficiency. She looked into his eyes and saw precision, intelligence, hardness. But a gentility, a selflessness. A weakness only for her. They were eyes she'd fantasized falling asleep lazily gazing into. Why did Ariadne feel like she'd done that? And woken up to them too? Why did the twinkle in them make her want to cry? How could a blink move her like that? His dimples—he wasn't showing them presently but they were what her happiness looked like. Must've been. Anytime they appeared they made her giddy. Made her all smiles and fluttering chest. His lips—they drew her like a moth to flame. The way they quirked and turned and frowned made her stomach do flips. The way they kissed…but she hadn't ever kissed him had she? No. Then why could she feel it? How did she know what it felt like to have his lips on her neck, her shoulders, her palms, her forehead, her cheeks, her mouth? _Did _she know the sensation Arthur's lips caused? Or did she simply want it _so bad_ she could feel it?

_**But it doesn't matter, **_Mal's voice whispers in her ear.

"Ariadne?" the Point Man started feeling uneasy. "What's wrong? Why are you crying?"

Numbly, The Architect reached up and felt the wetness on her cheeks, "I don't know." Maybe because Ariadne never experienced an attraction or fondness akin to this. Never wanted someone so bad she couldn't see straight. Subsequently, she released his hand and cupped his cheek. She traced the lines of his jaw…the structure of bones stood out like a map she'd forgotten she memorized the trails of. (Hadn't Ariadne kissed that jaw? Anchored his head down with it? Felt it pressed in areas that made her blush to think about? She couldn't have.) Arthur's face leaned into her touch. The woman watched as her power drained him of all pretense. As his lids grew heavier, as his brows pushed together and up, as his eyes adored her with uncontrollable vulnerability. And while Ariadne had never seen him that unguarded before…she had. The way he looked at her was too familiar.

"Arthur, do you love me?" the words tumbled out accidentally. But once it was out there, she might as well get the whole truth. "Not her. Not dream Ariadne. Me. The real me?" It was her turn to feel vulnerable. Her turn to look like her heart was dangling from a string in _his_ possession.

It was the wind whistling this time: _**Tell me why it doesn't matter. **_

The Point open and closed his mouth. Speechless out of surprise. It didn't discourage her. Arthur _had _to love her. Ariadne knew he did. Because he'd loved her once before. Right? In her dream. But was it a dream? She bit her lip for bravery and took his hands in hers; Ariadne guided them across the expanse of her hip bones and then around her waist just like in her dream. Next, her fingers nimbly unbuttoned his vest and her palms ran up his chest causing a sharp intake of his breath. Arthur's entire body tensed as she pulled herself flush against him and pressed her lips against his. It was everything the man waited and wished for since waking up on Miles' couch. Ariadne kissed him once, small and sweet. Then twice, deep and ardent. When she pulled away, it was only to measure his response…and that was a hoarse, "I love _you._ _You, _Ari._" _Arthur tangled his hands in her hair and dragged her lips back across his. They met each other zealously, fervently, kiss for kiss. Ariadne stretched on her toes, pulling at his neck to bring herself closer. To make them inseparable. To bind them together by sheer will. Arthur clawed at her back, holding her tighter, even tighter.

_Yeah, it was worth a shot. _

With her eyes closed, Ariadne saw headlights in her mind's eye. Heard glass break. But she didn't stop to worry about it, to be afraid of it. She kept kissing Arthur, his lips, his cheek, his neck, his jaw, everything she could get to. In his arms, she wasn't concerned about anything else.

_I know the flight from Sydney is a grueling one. But if you felt up to it, would you accompany me to dinner tonight?  
Are you asking me on a date, Point Man?  
…Yes. I am.  
About time. We landed in LA like twenty minutes ago. I'd really that, actually._

The Architect's head began pounding. She heard sirens. Felt blood underneath her nails. But she ignored it. Ignored everything for the feeling of Arthur's hands clenching the back of her jacket, the feeling of rubbing his forehead against hers, the feeling of his nose in the crook of her neck, his breath as he whispered he loved her again.

_Any luck at the college?  
Yes. We've got ourselves a brilliant architect. Arthur this is Ariadne. Ariadne, Arthur.  
Nice to meet you, Arthur.  
With all due respect, you don't look old enough to be in college.  
With all due respect, you aren't and never will be Frank Sinatra but the getup is a nice try.  
Nice to meet you too._

Seatbelt. Ariadne felt the thin, unforgiving material slice through her skin. Felt the jerk of a vehicle. Heard metal crunching. The familiar wetness of her blood seeping through her shirt wasn't even enough to pull her away from Arthur and stop the surge of memories grasping to connect dots.

_Cobb said you'd be back.  
I tried not to come but—_

_Why don't you move in with me?  
Move in. Like live together?  
You're here all the time anyway. You don't have to if you don't want to.  
I do. _

_No, not his ex.  
They're still together?  
No, she's dead._

_**Tell me why it doesn't matter, Ariadne.**_

Ariadne broke away from Arthur, "Because you'll be together." To his alarm, she looked worse for the wear. Her shirt stained crimson at her neck, blood drained from her nose, a nasty gash on her forehead. Tearstains down her cheeks. How did that happen as they were kissing? He worriedly took her shoulders, "Ariadne, why—"

"Arthur!" Her eyes grew wide as she threw herself at him. Her arms squeezed his waist with all her strength, her head against his chest, "How could I ever forget you? I love you so much; how could I ever forget you?"

_But if I know you,  
I know what you'll do  
You'll love me at once  
The way you did once upon a dream._

xxxxxxx

So what exactly does that mean? Careful. Our next chapter starts with a couple minor twists so it may not be what you think…


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